


What Goes Around

by MoonMargaret



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drama, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 108,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonMargaret/pseuds/MoonMargaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone expects Merlin's secret to come out in the heat of battle or saving Camelot.What if it happens on the most normal of days?And what if that makes it worse than it ever could've been? Set after 4x13 in a time of love, loss, & always laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And So It Begins

Merlin was behaving strangely.

It was only through Arthur's familiarity with Merlin's regular daily habits that he was able to notice the young man's unusual actions that morning. He had come to wake Arthur at a reasonable hour; he had remembered to bring breakfast, rather than having to be sent away for it; there was no evidence that he had already picked out and eaten the choicest of the servings; the meal consisted of more than a crusty scone shoved messily into the king's mouth, resulting in crumby bedclothes and a pair of poked eyes; he did not forcibly drag Arthur out of the warmth and comfort of his bed; and his "Rise and shine!" did not have the sarcastic and tetchy tone that it had taken as of late. He was being downright…respectful.

Merlin was behaving very strangely indeed. Arthur was beginning to fear that the serving lessons that Merlin had been given in the past few months had actually affected his work ethic when he caught Merlin beginning to yawn as he leaned against the king's bedposts and observed the royal breakfast.

"Am I boring you, Merlin? Because I'm sure that there are plenty of other things that you could be doing right now…"

"Of course not, sire. No one can eat a more enthralling breakfast than you, sire."

Arthur squinted suspiciously over his sausages. Merlin's repeated use of Arthur's proper title usually meant one of three things: Merlin had done something stupid and was attempting to insinuate himself into Arthur's good graces before the truth came out, Merlin wanted something that only Arthur could give, or that Merlin had some bad news to share and hoped to avoid being blamed as the messenger. He held Merlin's gaze for a few moments, hoping to make him blush or quake—the boy was an awful liar, and Arthur was confident that he would uncover whatever was amiss with a little bit of glaring.

But Merlin just raised his eyebrows. If anything, he seemed to be trying not to smile. Whether this was because Arthur tended to throw things at anyone who was being particularly cheerful in the hour after he was wakened or because Merlin had some secret, Arthur had no idea.

"You're looking pale, Merlin. Perhaps you require some fresh air to liven up. My stables could certainly use some mucking out."

Merlin gaped at him, and his paleness suddenly seemed all the more evident. Wondering if he was sick, Arthur considered letting Merlin stick to less pungent duties for the day. In fact, he was wondering so seriously that he almost didn't notice Merlin yawning again. Which sealed the deal.

"Sire, I mucked out the stables the day before yesterday. There's hardly been time for any much to reaccumulate."

Again with the "sire." Putting on his most kingly countenance, Arthur gestured regally at his servant with a half-eaten sausage that dripped grease onto the trousers of his nightclothes. "Well, you must have done such a miserable job last time if they need mucking out again. In fact, you should go now. There's no time like the present when it comes to mucking out horses!"

"How should you know?" Merlin mumbled as he turned to go. In years past, Arthur would have made Merlin turn back and repeat his words, shaming him all the way to the stocks. But Arthur was far too used to Merlin's insolence by now and, as long as it was limited to the two of them, he couldn't be bothered to try to curb his servant's attitude.

Unfortunately, Merlin seemed too tired to do any real mouthing off and left almost immediately after his dismissal. For any other servant, this promptness of obedience would have been commendable. But Arthur, expecting whining and argument, was left alone in his chambers in his grease-stained nightclothes with no one to dress him. At least he was already naked from the waist-up.

When his wife entered his chambers half an hour later, Arthur was proud of himself, having more or less dressed himself. Of course, Guinevere looked perfectly put-together and beautiful and so regal that no one would have ever guessed that she had once lived in a one-room "house" in the lower town, in Arthur's humble opinion. She also looked very amused.

While she came from her neighboring chambers and kissed him as she did every morning, there seemed to be a barely suppressed laugh on her lips that he would have once excused as a smile of happiness had he not so often seen such a similar look of amusement on Merlin's face. Which usually only meant one thing.

"Oh, what did I do wrong?" he asked in exasperation, stepping back from his wife and looking himself over with such a fussy air that Guinevere could no longer contain her laugh.

"It's your tunic, Arthur. It's inside out."

Never one to be shy about walking around topless, he shucked his tunic off despairingly. "How can you even tell? It's all the same color."

Guinevere took the tunic from him and gently turned it so that its proper side was showing before handing it back to her husband. "The seams were showing. Former seamstress, remember?"

Arthur took the excuse of putting his shirt back on to hide his face, and Guinevere sighed. He always managed to hide his face, leave the room, or change the subject whenever her past employment came up in conversation. She didn't understand why. He'd never had a problem with it prior to their marriage, or even in its early days.

She was shaken out of her reverie when she heard Arthur's voice come out from the twisted folds of his tunic as he struggled to get it over his head. "I do not understand," he said, breathing hard through the fabric, "how I can have such difficulty doing something that even Merlin doesn't have trouble with."

Finally helping his golden head emerge from the neck of his red tunic, she shook her head, smiling, as she straightened it over his shoulders. "Oh, don't be so hard on Merlin. Especially on today of all days."

He shook his head and reached for his jacket. Guinevere took it from him and helped him into it before he could waste another five minutes trying to find the armholes on his own. Accustomed to such things, Arthur kept speaking as though he was not being dressed like a child by his wife.

"I don't know why he should get special treatment this morning. It's not like he's never shown up for work pale and sleepy before."

Gwen gave a soft smile as she smoothed the fabric of the long brown coat over Arthur's broad back, pleased that she finally had the liberty to do so. "Well, I can't blame him for being pale and sleepy. You should see Elyan. Apparently Gwaine took them all for something of a ride last night. But you know Gwaine. Any excuse for a celebration."

Arthur spun around to face his wife. "Are you saying that Merlin is pale and sleepy because he spent the night at the tavern? Again? I'm starting to get slightly concerned about his drinking. He's too skinny to keep up with Gwaine. Plus he can't hold his liquor to save his life. I'm afraid that he's going to show up one morning to tell me that he accidentally married a chicken the night before and wants my blessing."

Guinevere turned her attention to straightening the king's collar under his jacket. "Oh, give him a break, Arthur. It's hardly a nightly event for him. And it's not like he has a birthday every week. Let him celebrate."

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot all the way up to his hairline, not least at her statement that Merlin wasn't a frequent tavern visitor. "Birthday?"

"Mm-hmm," Gwen said absently, brushing off his shoulders. "He was all excited about it yesterday, even if they had to go out the night before the actual birthday. Didn't you notice? It was kind of adorable, if you ask me. By the way, what did you get him?"

Apparently pleased with the state of his jacket, she looked up at him, beaming expectantly.

"What did I get him…for his birthday?"

"Mm-hmm. I got him a new bag. You know, the one that he always takes on your adventures and quests and whatever else you two get up to in the woods was getting really holey and the strap was about one more bandit attack away from snapping, so I thought that…"

"For his birthday."

"Yep."

"Which is…today?"

There was a silence of a few moments. It was not long enough to make a person particularly uncomfortable, but it was plenty long enough for a man faced with a glare such as Guinevere's at that moment to become at least somewhat nervous.

"You didn't know that it was his birthday today?"

Arthur would have preferred if she were shouting. Shouting would have been far less terrifying. "No! He never said…I mean, honestly, Guinevere, he's my servant. Why should I...It's really his birthday?"

Her eyes were so narrowed at him that he could hardly believe that she could even see out of them. "Arthur Pendragon, he has been your personal manservant for the last six years! You spend most of every day with him! Did you think that he never had one?"

"I do not spend most of—"

"Arthur, you brought him on our honeymoon."

He had. It had seemed like a very natural plan to him at the time, and Merlin had been packed before Arthur had even informed him that his presence would be required. But it somehow sounded like a very strange idea when said aloud by someone else, as though having a third person along made it any less of a romantic honeymoon. Merlin had even given some very helpful advice about the wedding night. Merlin had written half of his notes to Guinevere anyway.

"Well, someone had to carry the bags," Arthur countered defensively.

"So he's too skinny to hold his alcohol but plenty big enough to handle two weeks' worth of baggage?"

"He had a horse!"

"Arthur."

He sighed. Maybe he had been a bit tough on Merlin during their honeymoon. His and Guinevere's. Obviously. But he just couldn't get himself to feel too remorseful for that. Merlin had carried far more on their quests, and they were usually running the risk of either being eaten or skewered on those trips. Plus, Merlin had been the one who had chosen and packed all of Arthur's things for the honeymoon anyway. It was his own fault.

Now, Arthur just felt guilty. And it wasn't like he could give the excuse that, as royalty, it would be inappropriate for him to give gifts to his servants. Guinevere had seen to that. If only she hadn't told him that it was Merlin's birthday! But he knew. And now he had to do something.

It couldn't be too big. That would just be embarrassing. Yes, he had given Merlin the new coat as a wedding present. However, as it was later pointed out to him that wedding presents tend to be given to either the bride or groom rather than by the groom to his manservant, Arthur had been somewhat less than generous with Merlin lately. Plus, the rumors of their codependency were getting to be a bit much if even the king was starting to hear them.

But now it was Merlin's birthday. Considering how excited Merlin always seemed to get for Arthur's birthdays, extravagant parties aside, he seemed to be a fan of birthday celebrations. Arthur briefly considered waiting until tomorrow and then somberly explaining to Merlin that he had intended to have a very special birthday gift made for him, but that the memory of Uther's mortal wounding occurring on Arthur's previous birthday had made the whole process too painful for him.

He then considered that perhaps his father would not appreciate Arthur using his death as an excuse to avoid throwing together some bric-a-brac for a serving boy.

Guinevere, seeing that she had clearly thrown a mighty conundrum at her husband and king, quietly left Arthur to his thoughts. In the safety of the corridor, she was free to laugh aloud at the look of intense concentration on his face as he ignored matters of state to ponder birthday presents for his most loyal servant.

By the time that the man of the hour himself came in with lunch, all that Arthur had been able to come up with was "a day off." However, as this would be both inconvenient to him and seem like he made it up at the last minute because he had forgotten that Merlin even had a birthday, he shelved that thought and cast about in his mind for something material that he could thoughtfully procure by the end of the day and that would not have seemed like he had made it up at the last minute.

He looked unenthusiastically down at his meal. Whether it was because his ponderings were so distracting him or because Merlin was getting his revenge for the morning of stable mucking by serving him what was possibly the most unappealing compilation of dishes from the royal kitchens, Arthur could do no more than pick at his food.

Judging from the way that Merlin wasn't trying to snake tastes off of the plate, he hadn't intended for Arthur to enjoy this meal. Merlin's carefully straight face only confirmed this suspicion. After a few wary glances, Merlin looked as though he were about a single pout away from laughing, only saving himself by picking at his ratty old neckerchief. He had apparently chosen his rattiest in honor of his special day.

Not that any of them were in particularly splendid condition. Merlin was probably actually running low on neckerchiefs that could actually still function as neckerchiefs. Most of them had probably beenused as bandages and tourniquets and bindings by now.

Wait.

That's what he could do for Merlin's birthday! He could award him with a supply of bandages and tourniquets and bindings, real ones! Arthur congratulated himself on his wit. What kind of servant wouldn't appreciate a gift of bandages and tourniquets? Practicality, foresight, and wound preparedness all in one package!

Or he could get him new neckerchiefs. That would be another idea.

Arthur closed his eyes and enacted a brief mental argument with himself. It consisted of him, standing at the head of his council table, giving an eloquent and logical argument for the bandages (considering that Arthur himself would probably end up waking from unconsciousness with most of them wrapped around his head); Guinevere stood at the opposite end of the table, arguing that Merlin needed something to go with his new coat and bag and that if Arthur is going to complain about Merlin being shabby looking, then he should do something about it when he has the chance; and there was Merlin, standing at his right side, and looking up at him (for Merlin was always the shorter when he argued with Arthur within the king's mind) with the most pathetically wide and trusting eyes, saying, "It's okay, Arthur. You don't have to give me anything. Serving you is gift enough."

Arthur let out a long groan of exasperation and slammed his head on his table before Imaginary Merlin could start to tear up, carefully avoiding a faceplant into his stew, which he knew would make Merlin far too happy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin look over, clearly startled and probably wondering, Arthur mused, whether or not the meal was actually affecting his health.

He shut his eyes in annoyance, the imaginary Merlin and Guinevere having triumphed. Time for a trip to the royal seamstress for a rush order of neckerchiefs. Although now that he thought about it, the royal seamstress may not know how to make neckerchiefs. Merlin certainly seemed to be the only one in Camelot who found them a fashion statement. Maybe it was an Ealdor thing.

As it turned out, the royal seamstress did not know how to make a neckerchief. Therefore, the rest of the day of King Arthur, supreme ruler of the lands of Camelot and all of its peoples, was spent in trying to steal one of Merlin's neckerchiefs to supply the seamstress with a pattern, giving Merlin extra chores so as to keep him out of the way, avoiding a vengeful Merlin as he stomped across the castle to his bedroom (to whence he had been ordered by his master so as to be sure where he was throughout the day) with armfuls of Arthur's armor and boots, choosing materials for the neckerchiefs, and having imaginary arguments with his wife about the merits about various types of fabric.

Arthur, upon returning at dusk to the chambers of the royal seamstress to pick up his glorious birthday gift, sincerely hoped that the neckerchief that he had stolen from Merlin's chambers was not his favorite, for it had been so worn out that when it was folded into a shape not that of Merlin's neck, it had promptly fallen apart.

But they were ready. The seamstress had managed to prepare half a dozen new neckerchiefs, despite the frequent interferences of the king. He'd insisted that some be red, to go with Merlin's blue shirts, and that some be blue, to go with his red. He'd also directed that, on the finest of the reds, that the Pendragon seal be stitched on with as much precision as was possible in the limited time.

He felt that his crowning achievement, however, was when he decided that embroidered on one of the blue neckerchiefs should be the image of a merlin. He had no idea if Merlin actually liked merlins, and in fact had a distinct memory of Merlin running away from a falcon at one point, but he felt that he should definitely be lauded for his thoughtfulness and ingenuity.

Armed with the six new and comparatively splendid neckerchiefs (and the glares of the royal seamstress, whose birthday Arthur made a note to try to remember after this ordeal), Arthur checked that the corridors were empty and then sprinted with undignified glee through the hallways to Gaius' chambers. Since it was nearly midnight, Arthur knocked politely on the chamber door, thinking that Gaius might be sleeping.

When there was no answer, Arthur eased the door open quietly and peered into the dark. Gaius seemed to be out somewhere, probably making house calls in the lower town, as he was wont to do in the evenings. But there was light shining out from the cracks under and in Merlin's bedroom door. Along with the clanks and clangs that meant that Merlin was still wrestling with Arthur's armor—no surprise, as Arthur had sent him with just about every piece of battle gear that he had ever owned in his life, Arthur was sure that his servant was certainly still awake, if somewhat unfriendly to him at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur couldn't help but grin. Merlin would be so surprised to be receiving a gift from him! Choosing to ignore what this said about Arthur's generosity over the previous six years of their relationship, Arthur strode as silently as he could over to Merlin's door. He figured that he could have charged across the chambers on a horse without alerting Merlin, who seemed to be making as much noise as possible in his polishing efforts. Maybe he needed more lessons from George.

On any normal day, Arthur would have just walked into Merlin's room without knocking or begging entrance. But this was no normal day, and if he was going to do something nice, he was going to do it all the way. Taking a deep breath, Arthur knelt down to peer through the keyhole into Merlin's room, hoping to time his greeting perfectly. He knew that he was being rather, for lack of a better word, silly, but he had so few opportunities to do so and therefore got far more enjoyment than was natural out of the experience.

Already smiling, his anticipation and self-pride too much for any stoicism, he squinted into the room, expecting to see a scowling Merlin, coated with more polish than the metal, scrubbing away at Arthur's armor, probably swearing at the king under his breath and inhaling more polish fumes than could possibly be healthy.

What he did not expect to see was Merlin lying on his back on his bed, the picture of relaxation, reading a book with a title in a language that Arthur could not read, his eyes flickering between blue and gold, while Arthur's armor polished itself in the air around him.

Merlin was using magic.


	2. It Takes But An Instant

When he would look back later, Arthur would not remember making the conscious decision to leave Gaius' chambers that night. When he told the story to others in his court, he would claim that the first thing that he can recall after seeing Merlin doing magic is waking up in his own bed. He would say that it seemed like a dream at first, that it must have been a dream. And that that was why he didn't think to tell anyone that his servant was a sorcerer.

But Arthur knew damn well what he was doing that night. After all, Arthur had learned very early on in his rule that part of being a good king is knowing how and when to tell a good lie. It was one of the few useful lessons that he had taken from Agravaine.

He had long been trained to rely on his instincts in battle. Stopping to think when being attacked by mercenaries and bandits tended to get a prince killed. Formulating plans was a process meant to occur in places of relative safety. When faced with a battle threat, the decision is simple: fight or flee.

Even as a young knight, Arthur had been far more likely to fight than run. Unless he knew that there was no conceivable way for him to survive, he was more likely to take to his sword than to his saddle. Of course, as the sole heir to the throne of Camelot, the essential nature of survival had been drummed into his head since he had first been able to lift it. But what right would he have had to rule a kingdom if he fled from battle? No, few things frightened Arthur enough to keep him from standing his ground and fighting.

So when he stumbled, gasping and blinking furiously, back away from the keyhole that betrayed Merlin and his magical misdeeds, it was purely on instinct. It was only when his knees gave out and he fell on his backside that he was able to process what he had seen.

For the rest of his life, Arthur would wish that he had not taken that fall. He stayed on that ground, sprinkled with the remnants of whatever herbs that Gaius had gathered from the forest and that Merlin hadn't properly swept up, for only a few seconds. But it was with a clear mind that he stayed on that floor, and in those few seconds, Arthur defined what would be his relationship with his servant for the rest of their lives. He stood, almost immediately, and walked out of the door to Gaius' chambers, not looking back or stopping once, despite the difficulties of walking when shaking as must he was.

Yes, Arthur knew damn well what he was doing, and why he was doing it. And it was in that single moment, the moment when his knee-jerk reaction was to throw aside his own laws for the sake of the man who had stood by his side and lied to him for the better part of a decade, the moment when his first thought was of how he was going to get Merlin out of this, that single moment in which he managed to acknowledge, process, and dismiss this most grievous of betrayals because it was Merlin…it was in that moment that Arthur realized his own insufficiencies as a ruler. And it was in that moment of realization and self-awareness that Arthur was able to truly, for the first time in all of their years together, hate part of what Merlin had brought into his life.

Guinevere's betrayal was nothing, nothing compared to this. They were to be married, yes, and they were in love. They loved each other based on their courtship, tentative and innocence and fraught with hurdles as it was. She was the woman who was to be his Wife and Queen, just as he was to be her Husband and King. They had specific places in one another's lives, roles that kept them at once permanently united as a pair as well as entirely separate individuals. Even their living situation was categorized; they each had their separate bedchambers as well as a shared central room. He had his set place in her life, and she in his.

But Merlin was everywhere. Now that he thought about it, Merlin basically had access everywhere that Arthur did. When the knights needed something, they went through Merlin. If a nobleman needed to know something about the king, they asked Merlin before they dared approach the king. Merlin was all but Arthur's shadow; ever-silent and always trailing a few feet behind, but ever-present and privy to all that befell the body. Servants did him favors in the hopes of have their names dropped in the company of the king; the envoys who knew to do their research before coming to Camelot always knew who he was, knew that to insult or injure Merlin would be to insult or injure their chances with the king. Merlin was everywhere that Arthur was.

And Merlin was a sorcerer.

It didn't make any sense. After all these years...

By the time that Arthur had managed to make his way back to the corridor where his chambers were situated, he was leaning on the walls and breathing hard as he walked. His sense of reality was so shaken, his mind so actively trying to reject as impossible what he had seen in Merlin's bedroom, that he nearly collapsed through the door to Guinevere's adjacent chambers rather than his own.

He considered for half an instant going into her room and lying on her bed and crying on her chest while telling her what he had seen and what he knew and what he couldn't un-know, no matter how much he wanted to. But there was no way. He loved Guinevere with all his heart. He always had. Her betrayal, awful and wrenching as it was, had not been enough to rid him of his feelings for her. He loved her as he always had.

But just as he could not unsee Merlin cleaning his armor with magic, Guinevere could never undo the night when she had chosen to kiss Lancelot. Arthur had forgiven, but hers was not a transgression that could ever be forgotten. So now that he was faced with another and arguably worse betrayal by one of the people closest to him in the world, he found that he could not go to his wife to air his worries. He had never felt more alone in his life.

At least Guinevere had been ashamed of herself. Horrified, really. There were even still days when a shadow would pass over her features, a cloud of shame, and Arthur would know that she was remembering that awful night in the council chambers. And a dark part of his soul was always glad.

Merlin hadn't look ashamed. He hadn't even looked marginally uncomfortable. He'd looked gleeful. Arthur had never seen him look like that. He'd seen Merlin happy, of course, but never like that. Merlin looked…unreserved. Like his happiness was whole and complete and unfettered by the worries and restraints rest of the world. He looked like he was in his element, young and strong and full of life.

Halfway to his bed, Arthur changed direction and staggered to his looking glass, needing to see himself. This was not the wisest of his decisions; staggering is a perfectly understandable precursor to collapsing onto one's bed, but it is not the safest of methods of approaching something breakable.

He managed to stop himself from cracking his head on the mirror, but it was a near miss, and the fist that he'd extended to prevent the collision struck a small, perfect crack in the glass that reflected his tired face. He gazed in the mirror for a full minute or two, staring at the crack between his eyes, blue and tired and not even a little bit gold. His eyes looked just as all eyes should.

So he drew back his fist and punched the mirror with as much strength as he could muster. It splintered and smashed to the floor, sending shards of glass flying all over his room. Arthur thought distantly that, if Merlin had slept in the anteroom to his chamber the way that servants to royalty are supposed to, he certainly would have been woken by the crash.

But no one heard, and no one came rushing in to make sure that their king was safe and sound. So Arthur swayed his way over to his bed and wept.

The final conscious action taken by the Once and Future King on that fateful night was to grasp blindly about his person for something to use to bandage the leaking hand with which he had smashed his looking glass. It was only in the morning when Merlin came bounding in to wake him up that Arthur found that he had staunched his own bleeding with the merlin-embroidered neckerchief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to any readers! I actually have all 25 chapters already written and am just posting them one by one. Reviews are always appreciated!


	3. Decisions and the Dawn

It was as though he'd never gone to sleep.

He woke up feeling rested enough, especially considering the turbulence with which he had slept. But he woke up with full formulated plans, as though his brain had kept working while his body and heart slept their sorrows into submission.

He also woke up far earlier than he wished as Merlin came crashing in at the crack of dawn. Smiling and happily telling him to "Rise and shine!"

Arthur glowered at Merlin without speaking and rolled over onto his pillow, pulling his blankets over his tousled head. Merlin would find nothing unusual about this; Arthur was rarely welcoming for the first hour after waking. He only hoped that Merlin wouldn't take it upon himself to bodily drag him out of bed this morning. It was supposed to be a somewhat uneventful day, so hopefully Merlin would take Arthur's rolling away and groaning as a sign that he wasn't going back to sleep.

There was a cold draft of air that meant that Merlin had opened his window. This always just made Arthur burrow more deeply under his blankets rather than get out of bed more quickly, and he had long suspected that Merlin really only did it to annoy him. So Arthur chose to ignore the servant and continue stewing over his conundrum.

The way he saw it, he had three options. He could confront Merlin about his magic in private, confront Merlin about his magic in company, or pretend that he'd never seen anything and continue on with business as usual.

He heard a great deal of muffled clanging and jangling going on somewhere in the area of his main table. He shuddered to think of how it would really sound without the buffer of his bedding. It seemed that Merlin was getting breakfast ready, making far more noise than any normal person would do in the process. He had heard Sir William putting on full armor himself after a hand amputation with less noise than this. Arthur was never sure if this was another tactic to get him out of bed or whether this was just the quietest that Merlin was capable of handling anything made out of metal. Both seemed likely.

Accustomed to such noisiness, Arthur had no difficulty in tuning out the exertions on the other side of his blanket tent.

His immediate plan had been to confront Merlin in private. He would plan out a speech, choose spaces for dramatic pauses, and use the threatening voice that always shut Merlin up. Merlin would have to hear him out and then have no choice but to explain himself.

But that, Arthur reminded himself, was the old Merlin. That was the Merlin that he knew yesterday. This Merlin was a sorcerer. If he was confronted with something or someone that displeased him, who was to say that Merlin wouldn't just enchant or jinx or curse him, or do something to make him forget? With a jolt, Arthur realized that it was entirely possible that he had already done so in the past. Between Arthur's absolute trust in his servant and his general ignorance of all things magical, it would not have been difficult for deception.

A public confrontation was Arthur's second choice. After all, Merlin might be able to enchant him, but he didn't see how Merlin could possibly take on all the knights and befuddle the entire court at once. Merlin had difficulty walking and carrying things at the same time; sorcerer or not, Arthur couldn't see Merlin as particularly powerful. Surely powerful sorcerers had the abilities to function with some semblance of grace on a daily basis.

But Arthur wasn't sure if he could do that, if he could call out Merlin in front of the whole court. For one thing, Merlin might just deny it. No one could force him to do magic. From personal experience, Arthur knew that Merlin was far more likely to do something if he was instructed not to do so. Gaius could back him up on that.

Arthur could throw him in jail until he confessed, but his knights (and, probably, his wife) would doubtless find it more likely that something was wrong with Arthur if he imprisoned his Merlin than that Merlin was a secret magician. Plus, if Merlin did confess before the full court, Arthur would be far more humiliated than the confessor. After all, he was the king of Camelot, charged with the protection and care of his entire nation. If he could not keep criminals out of his own household, from standing firmly right at his side for years, from committing illegal acts on his own possessions, how could he be seen as a competent ruler?

Oh, Merlin. He'd always known that that boy was more trouble than he was worth.

Of course, Merlin was no longer a boy. He hadn't been for a long while. It had just snuck up on him within the last year that Merlin was, in fact, a man. And a brave one at that.

There was no questioning his bravery. Sorcerer or not, Merlin could have stayed back and stayed safe on countless occasions when he had accompanied Arthur into danger. He may have been somewhat less helpless than Arthur had always assumed, but magic did not make a man immortal. Hadn't they seen enough sorcerers die as proof enough of that?

And it certainly took a brave man to throw something at a slowly wakening Arthur in the early hours of the morning. From the weight of the impact on the blanket over his head, it had been a breakfast roll of some sort. If Merlin was only on the roll stage, Arthur still had at least two lighter items before objects that could do actual damage came flying his way. Most people felt safer waking hibernating bears by poking them in the eye.

His third option was looking better and better. He was not sure if it was the most cowardly or most generous of the possibilities that he'd considered. He could just not do anything. He could pretend that he'd never gone to Merlin's bedroom last night and never seen him do magic. He could say that he had meant to go give Merlin his birthday present but had hurt his hand on the mirror and hadn't felt up to the trip.

Not that he particularly felt like giving Merlin any gifts at the moment.

It would have been easy. Merlin just didn't seem like a secret practitioner of sorcery, not least because he was generally a horrible liar. Some of the stories that he came up with…

So easy. It could have been a dream. He'd has his fair share of realistic but strange dreams and, as Merlin was just about everywhere during Arthur's waking hours, he was generally featured at least somewhat prominently in Arthur's dreams. Granted he was usually cowering or running away or giving overemotional speeches about Arthur's destiny by firelight, rather than polishing armor with his mind, but the subconscious is a funny thing.

And what harm was there, really, in using a bit of magic to do one's job? As long as he got the job done, should it really matter how he did it? Surely Merlin wouldn't actually use his magic against someone. At least not Arthur. Surely.

But images began to flash through Arthur's mind, unbidden and certainly unwelcome. There was Merlin, when they first met, so confidently threatening the older and stronger prince. Arthur had laughed at the prospect of taking a beating at the hands of the skinny stranger, but perhaps it was not his hands with which Merlin had been intending to fight…

Then there was Merlin bursting into the council chamber to confess to sorcery to save Guinevere. Arthur had claimed that Merlin only did so because of feelings for Guinevere, but he didn't actually believe that. From the grateful look on Gaius' face, he knew that his gesture had not gone unappreciated. He'd just been trying to save his servant, so loyal but so foolish to invent such a story…

There was Merlin, so sure and so strangely knowledgeable when Camelot had been falling asleep, the only one there when Morgause took Morgana. Merlin, the only one conscious at the death of the Great Dragon, whose body had never been recovered…Merlin, who somehow knew to empty the blood from the Cup of Life to vanquish the immortal army…Merlin, who wore the same boots as the sorcerer called Dragoon, whose eyes Arthur had recognized, who had called him a toad in between hiccups…how had he not seen this?

Merlin, who…drank from a poisoned chalice to save the Arthur. Who offered to die in his place in the labyrinth. Who stayed in Camelot even as a wanted criminal because he was the only one who knew that the queen was a troll. Who rode out to face a dragon without so much as a helmet. Who came after Arthur on his quest for the trident because the life of his prince was more important to him than any punishment he might receive at his hand. Who actually tried to die for Arthur, first at hands of the Dorocha and then shortly thereafter on the Isle of the Blessed. Who seated himself at Arthur's right hand at the Round Table and it had seemed the most natural thing in the world…

Another impact. It felt like Merlin had skipped the pillow-throwing stage and gone straight into the goblet tossing. Arthur didn't have much time left before Merlin tried to heave something heavy in his direction. It didn't always make it all the way to the bed, but whether it was the bounce of something weighty on the mattress or the thump and swearing of Merlin as his upper body strength gave out mid-heave, Arthur would usually be roused in either anger or amusement.

Oh, why did he have to be a sorcerer? Well, Arthur would just pretend that he wasn't.

But could he? Merlin looked the same as he always had—shabby, disheveled, pale as snow and as though he hadn't eaten since infancy. But Arthur could not look at him the same way. Those blue eyes, so prominent in the pallor of his face, had burned golden last night. And that was not an image easily forgotten.

Their eyes were the one feature that Arthur and Merlin had most in common. They were as much like brothers as a king and a servant could ever be, but there was no physical resemblance between them that would hint at any blood relation. One skinny, one broad. One fair, one dark. One pale, one capable of coloring. One big mouth, one with measured speech. One royal, one peasant. But two pairs of blue eyes, the one feature that Arthur had always known that the two men shared. No wonder they had looked so familiar in Dragoon.

Merlin was talking again. Arthur didn't even know what he was saying. Certainly nothing about his birthday, since Arthur was apparently never meant to know when that was. He would have thought that six and a half years would have given enough opportunities to mention the date once or twice.

Maybe that's what he could do. Arthur could just give Merlin a set amount of time to come clean and tell the truth. It seemed like a good plan, a chivalrous and knightly plan. After all, it would give Merlin the chance to do the right thing rather than being forced into admitting his transgressions. Let Merlin be the kind of man that Arthur had always thought him. Granted, Arthur had always known that Merlin had his share of secrets—there was something about him from the beginning that made the king positive that his servant was not quite the open book that he claimed. Yes, maybe he just needed a little bit more time to open his book to Arthur. After all, he was the king.

But hadn't he had time? They had known each other for nearly seven years, been through hell and back together, seen each other through sicknesses and injuries and heartaches, risked everything to save one another time and time again, violated their own principles for the sake of the other's…hadn't he had time? Hadn't he had the opportunity? Hadn't there been enough trust between them? Merlin knew more about the king than was seemly for any servant. Surely a king could have been trusted with the infinitely less valuable secrets of a servant. And certainly a friend with a friend's.

"Arthur, if you do not get out of bed in the next five seconds, I am tearing up the speech that I wrote for you to give to the Council of Hay Balers. And before you make up your mind as to what item you are going to throw at my head, I want you to think very carefully about how much you actually know about baling hay."

Arthur groaned again and carefully arranged his face into the general expression of anger and annoyance that graced his face before breakfast. It wasn't difficult. He only had to try to remove any vestiges of betrayal from his expression, and even that probably wouldn't have alarmed Merlin at this hour. Arthur was very much not a morning person.

Scowling, he allowed Merlin to maneuver his arms and torso out of bed and into a tunic. Generally, he had no problems with Arthur striding around his chambers half-naked; it had taken him little time to get used to the fact that the first thing that Arthur always seemed to do upon entering his room was remove his tunic. But, for some reason, Merlin always insisted that Arthur at least wear a shirt when eating. Arthur had always found this strange, as Merlin would have to launder any clothing that he happened to spill on, but when he finally remembered to ask Merlin about it, Merlin had just muttered something about it being easier to wash tunics than haul bathwater.

After taking the initiative to splash water on his own face, vaguely surprising his manservant, Arthur allowed himself to be guided over to his breakfast, which he surveyed unenthusiastically as Merlin beamed at him expectantly.

Beaming before breakfast. So inconsiderate.

Merlin nudged the plate at him. "Don't look so scared, Arthur. I've served you far worse. I didn't even make any of your food this morning. Blame Cook if the taste is off."

Arthur didn't touch the dish. It had just occurred to him that it was perhaps not safe to eat or drink anything prepared or delivered to him by a sorcerer. If he had a gold piece for every time that a magician had tried to poison him…

But then, Merlin seemed to be the one to try to drink most of those poisons on Arthur's behalf, so maybe he wasn't all that likely to try to slip him any kind of deadly concoction. Besides, he'd had plenty of opportunities to poison his food before. Why should today be any different? And if someone else made it, it probably wasn't even rat. It wasn't much, though.

"Is this it?" Arthur immediately regretted the question. It wasn't that he minded being somewhat short with his servant. That was nothing unusual. It was just that questioning portion size was all but inviting Merlin to start hinting again that Arthur was fat.

For whatever reason, Merlin did not seize the opening. Perhaps he was still in a good mood from his secret birthday. He just raised his eyebrows and nudged the silver platter closer to his king. "Well, you have a roll, too. I just have to find it…"

Arthur watched disdainfully as Merlin started to scan the floor of his chambers in a way that Merlin clearly thought was very suble. "I am not eating a hunk of bread that you threw at me. I am the king of Camelot. I am not eating off of the floor."

Merlin blinked at him, a picture of innocence that would have been believable if not for the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Come now, sire. These floors are clean enough to eat off of. I'm the one who does the cleaning, remember? My lord?"

Arthur glared at him. Only Merlin could make his formal titles sound so insulting when he wanted to. "Merlin, you will pick that bread up off of my floor. Considering what you have been known to do with rats, I don't want them getting into my chambers. And you will go and get me new bread. I'm not going to have a shortchanged breakfast just because you have no manners."

Merlin grinned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure that George would never have thrown anything at you. Or in the past, found ways to make you a delicious meal out of limited resources."

Arthur's face twitched as he struggled to maintain the glare. "Get. Out."

Merlin just shook his head, picked up the roll, examined it, shrugged, and started eating it himself before leaving the room without a glance back. It was only when Arthur yelled, "And George would have bowed when he left the presence of the king!" that he heard Merlin laugh. No doubt to accentuate his massive differences from the most model servant in five kingdoms, Merlin slammed the door with more force than he usually did. Rubbing his eyes drowsily, Arthur mused that Merlin's arms would probably be sore after such exertion so early in the morning.

Then he remembered that he was mad at Merlin.

And then he remembered why.

He still had no idea what he was going to do. All that he knew for sure was that there was no way that he would be able to live with just ignoring the problem. It was all too alarming that he was able to banter with Merlin as usual after he had seen…what he had seen last night. Something had to be done.

If only he knew what. If only he could ask the one man that he usually asked. If only he could make so fateful a decision…

When he looked back later, he had to think of just how much grief could have been spared if he only had made his choice on that morning.


	4. Erosion And Impossibilities

Arthur was behaving strangely.

He knew it. He'd always thought himself a good liar, but it hadn't occurred to him until Merlin had flat out laughed at something that he said that maybe he hadn't ever had to learn to tell a convincing lie. He was the crown prince, and now the king. If he told a lie, it was the job of the rest of the people to turn it into the truth.

It was just disrespectful. Whenever Arthur caught Merlin in a lie, he usually just dismissed him rudely and made him do his least favorite chores. Maybe dumped a bucket or two on his head. He never laughed at him. That was just rude.

But Merlin had laughed at him. Sure, Merlin laughing at him was nothing particularly new, although it was usually associated with Guinevere in some capacity. Arthur still didn't see how Merlin wasn't embarrassed by what Arthur called "girl talk" between the two of them. Apparently, whatever dirt that he dug up on Arthur from his new bride was amusing enough to deal with being called a girl by his master. Granted, that was fairly likely to happen anyway.

Merlin was usually fairly clear on their boundaries, though. Arthur tended to not really care what Merlin said to him when was just the two of them. The days of throwing him in the stocks for insolence were long past. As long as they remembered the importance of public boundaries when it came to a relationship between servant and monarch, a fairly respectable status quo could be kept.

Of course, according to Guinevere, any attempt for boundaries between the pair were, at least in the public's eye, far too little and far too late. She liked to cite his presence on their honeymoon as proof. Besides, she said, they had been doing their best to die for each other ever since they had first met. Their attachment was hardly one that could be kept secret.

Also, since it was now public knowledge that, unless he stated otherwise, Arthur always meant "with Merlin" when he stated his intention to do something alone, his protests were likely to fall on deaf ears. At one point, he came up with the plan to make a proclamation about the official servant-and-master nature of their relationship. However, once he realized that he needed Merlin's help writing it, he decided to abandon the idea and spend the day trying on the majority of his wardrobe to prove that he was not, in fact, getting fat.

Arthur knew that there were rumors of impropriety; he'd heard whispers once or twice. He also knew that Merlin probably heard them all the time. Despite the elevated status of being the personal servant to the king, he was still a servant, which meant that he was still privy to the gentle ribbings and mockeries of those of similar standing. Which was probably why Merlin was never nearly as flustered as the king whenever an implication of impropriety was voiced in their mutual presence. If anything, it made him laugh.

He laughed too much. Would he never learn to hold his tongue? Especially now. As far as Merlin knew, there were far fewer threats that Arthur could hold over his head. Throwing him in the stocks was laughable. Locking him out of the citadel at night was all but impossible; he had enough friendly acquaintances in the palace that he was guaranteed to always find someone to let him in. Or, now that Arthur considered the matter, he could just use magic.

Banishment and execution were the two most severe forms of punishment still in practice under Arthur's regime. Torture had gone out the door with Uther. He had threatened Merlin with both more times than he could count, but after so many years of companionship, Arthur knew that there was no way that he could make Merlin believe that there was any real possibility that he would face death or exile at the hands of his king.

Little did Merlin know that Arthur finally had a legal reason to enact one of these most dire of punishments on his merry little head. So he should bloody well stop laughing at him. As if he was such a good liar!

Then Arthur would remember, and his whole mental tirade against Merlin's position in the royal household would start all over again. This was turning into possibly the most annoying morning that he had experienced since the dawn when Percival began to share his life story and they all learned that perhaps it was best if Percival just kept quiet. Who knew that a man with such quick wits in battle would have such a slow tongue when it came to the first fifteen years of his existence?

Arthur shook his head and attempted to bring himself back to the present.

"It's not funny, Merlin."

Merlin nodded. Arthur rolled his eyes; he'd had to repeat his statement for the fourth time before Merlin managed to comprehend him. Objectively, Arthur knew that it was perhaps becase the first three utterances were through such tightly clenched teeth that it was frankly impressive that any sound had managed to escape at all. But he was the king and Merlin was the servant. So Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin's stupidity.

Speaking of stupidity, Merlin seized this opportunity to pat Arthur patronizingly on the shoulder—in front of the knights!—and apologize. "You're right, Arthur, I'm sorry. This is no doubt a story of terror and bravery and flags and fire and all kinds of heroic things like that. So tell me, sire, how did you manage to escape from the beast with the face-of- a-bear-tail-of-a-horse-and-body-of-a-snake?" He said this last part very quickly and looked at Arthur very seriously, biting his lip in what was either intense anticipation for the story of Arthur's epic battle or in barely contained laughter. His shining eyes were something of a giveaway.

There was a pause in which Arthur was trying to decide whether the clever retort that he'd come up with was crushing enough or if he should just refuse to dignify the impertinence of Merlin's question with an answer.

Unfortunately, this pause was apparently enough for the assembled knights to imagine just how fearsome a beast with the face of a bear, tail of a horse, and body of a snake would be, and the decidedly un-knightly giggles that rippled through the group of warriors was enough to grate at Arthur's last nerve. He was the king! So what if he couldn't always come up with the best battle stories? Ever since he had seen Merlin doing magic, he had been walking around feeling as though he had been hit over the head with his own helmet. And kicked in the stomach by a horse. And smacked on the back with a blunt broadsword. And was drunk.

His anger at his embarrassment was enough to sober him up for a moment as he considered how he should get back at Merlin for calling attention to the unlikelihood of the beast of Arthur's feigned recollection. In the past, he would have made Merlin act as the sparring dummy for their swordplay or carry a target for their knife throwing, but the other knights had become too close to Merlin to get much fun out of his humiliation.

Merlin was ruining everything!

And then it came rushing back at him again. Arthur dismissed the knights with a gesture of his arm, made a vague circling motion with his hand that he hoped that Merlin would interpret as an order to go the hell away, and walked back toward the castle. It didn't really matter than Arthur hadn't made any deliberate or pre-established gesture; Merlin tended to interpret his hand signals however he wanted to anyway. Maybe Merlin today would sense that the place that he needed to be was somewhere far from the king. He could hope.

He felt Merlin's step slow so that he dropped several paces behind Arthur while still heading in the same direction. So much for Merlin's senses.

Arthur shook his head, distantly knowing that he wouldn't be able to take this much longer. His was not a disposition meant to withstand betrayal after betrayal. Uther, for all of his failings, had succeeded in raising a son who had grown to epitomize everything that the knights' code stood for. Chivalry, generosity, nobility, fairness in battle, caring for fellow man, responsibility…Arthur was a good man, and he was not meant to be surrounded by people seeking to lessen the integrity that he had sacrificed so much to maintain.

Agravaine…his uncle, his only living connection to his mother…a traitor, a traitor for reasons that Arthur did not and, thanks to Agravaine's mysterious death in the caves at the borders of Ealdor, would not ever understand.

Guinevere…the only woman that he had ever truly loved, who had nearly cost them everything that they had waited so long for by falling into the arms of another man. Arthur's only consolation of the whole ordeal, although he would never admit it, was that, if he had to lose Guinevere, at least it would have been to a man of such honor and nobility as Lancelot. Arthur could hardly begrudge Lancelot for falling for Guinevere; that, at least, was one thing out of the whole mess of that first attempt at marriage that Arthur could understand.

Morgana…he missed Morgana. Not the woman who had joined with Morgause and taken Camelot, and not the woman who had beguiled his uncle into helping her retake Camelot, but the girl whom he had loved as a sister long before he had found out that they shared a father. She had been part of his family from the day that she had come to live with them in Camelot and, now that Uther was gone, Arthur would have given anything to still have some piece of his family still by his side.

And Merlin. Merlin had been there through Agravaine, through Guinevere, through Morgana…maybe that's why it was so unexpected. Arthur had only survived the aftermath of those three betrayals with his sanity intact because Merlin had been there to talk, to listen, and to stay with him in silence, doing some unnecessary duty that kept him by Arthur's side without Arthur having to ask or, god forbid, to order him to keep him company. What on earth was he going to do when the truth about Merlin came out?

There was no one left.

Arthur stopped walking very suddenly. He was alone in a long corridor and could afford to have a melodramatic breakdown in a place like this. He covered his face with his heavily calloused hands and rubbed up and down, as though he was trying to erase his features the same way that he rubbed out the battle plans that he drew in the dirt with his sword. He had never felt so tired before in his life.

It was then that Merlin walked right into him. Arthur jumped, startled. He hadn't exactly been hurt by the collision; Merlin weighed approximately the same as the elderly sheepdog that was currently waiting to die in the stables, and looked almost as dangerous. So Arthur was fine, physically, if rather cruelly shaken out of the reverie that had permitted him a comfortable disconnect from the issues at hand.

Naturally, Merlin fell over.

Arthur towered over his floored servant. "Merlin, what the hell are you doing?"

Merlin shrugged with as much dignity as he could muster from his position on the cobbled floor or the corridor and rearranged himself carefully, clearly hoping to appear as though this was exactly where he had intended to end up. "Just…checking on the stone integrity of the floor of the…South corridor."

Arthur balled his hands into fists and put them on his hips so as to strike a more impressive figure as he glowered down at Merlin. "…Why?"

Merlin pulled himself up and looked down through his lashes at Arthur with a goofy grin.

Obviously standing on his tiptoes for some reason.

"Just taking initiative, sire!"

Arthur pursed his lips and put on his most condescendingly sarcastic tone. "That's strange. I don't seem to remember ordering an inspection of stone integrity of any of the corridors."

"Really?" Merlin seemed to try to look as though this was a surprise to him. In light of recent revelations, Arthur was distantly let down that Merlin wasn't doing a better job of lying about something even so minor as this.

"Nor do I remember asking you to follow me."

"Um." Merlin clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the ground, assuming the proper stance of a servant addressing his king. Arthur knew that Merlin just didn't want to meet his eyes.

"Nor do I remember deciding to name this the South corridor when it very clearly faces North," Arthur continued.

"Ah."

"Merlin."

"Yes?" he asked hopefully.

"Go away."

Merlin nodded smartly. "You know, I think that Gaius needs some help gathering some herbs. Maybe I'll just go do that right now."

Arthur nodded back with raised eyebrows, and Merlin ambled away in what Arthur assumed was his most coordinated gait. "Just make sure that you don't smack your head and disappear into the woods for a week! Strange, it seems like all kinds of unusual things happen whenever you randomly disappear for extended periods of time."

He hadn't meant to say it. He hadn't even decided how he was going to approach Merlin about this. He didn't know whether or not he was planning on giving Merlin a pardon or a pyre. This was not the time to let on to Merlin that Arthur was in on his secret. He only hoped that maybe Merlin had been too far away to have heard him.

But Merlin turned around and grinned back with a smile filled with all of the trust in the world. "I'll do my best to make it back, sire." He then rounded the corridor and left the king's sight.

Finally.

Arthur was doing just fine, holding himself together quite admirably, he felt. That is, until he heard a loud thud and a shouted apology that could mean only one thing: Merlin had run into yet another doorframe. It was this familiar, embarrassing, and oh so endearing sound that finished him, and Arthur slumped to the floor of the corridor only just vacated by his sorcerous servant and covered his face once more. He couldn't keep this up.


	5. A Thing Or Two About Loyalty

He had lasted a week.

Arthur had begun to think that he could do it, that he could pretend that Merlin was as unextraordinary as he always had seemed. A brief flash of insight every once and a while was as much credit as Arthur would ever have had to give him.

He knew that he wasn't hiding his conflict as well as he'd like; Merlin kept asking what was wrong and giving him suspicious looks. Merlin was giving him suspicious looks! Arthur had laughed out loud at that, although even he heard the slightly hysterical edge to it. Merlin had even tried to get Arthur to open up over a campfire, apparently sticking with what had worked in the past.

But Arthur didn't seem to be reacting to this as he usually did grave offenses. Under normal, not-treacherous circumstances, he would have blown up and shouted at Merlin and thrown things at him and threatened him with everything from being stuck in the stocks on potato delivery day to having him drawn and quartered in the Camelot courtyard.

Arthur's original theory had been that shutting down and drawing into himself was just how he had been conditioned to deal with betrayal. When Morgana had usurped Uther's throne, Arthur had been injured and forced to flee to take refuge in the forest, a fugitive from his own birthright. He hadn't even had a chance to confront his half-sister until nearly two years later.

Then Guinevere. He'd been all but impotent in the face of that betrayal. More than once, he had reflected on how it was a lucky thing that she was a woman; otherwise, she may not have been left to flee Camelot so unharmed. As it was, Arthur would have even let her leave in secret, in the dead of night, and made of more dignified excuses for the sudden cancellation of the wedding. But people had seen her—she'd been caught by more than just Arthur. A spotlight had been cast onto his actions before he'd even had time to process what had happened. He'd had to deal with the expectations of his people, through whom the news had undoubtedly spread like wildfire, before he could even consider dealing with Guinevere.

And Agravaine. Arthur wouldn't be able to ever get closure on that one. Immediately after seeing with his own eyes what others had tried to tell him, the evidence for which he had all but ignored—Agravaine's treachery—he had been once again forced to flee his own palace, his only consolation being the promise that he could deal with his uncle later. But he would be denied even that. Agravaine's unexplained death in the caves had prevented that. Although, in light of recent events, Arthur considered that perhaps Merlin could shed a little light on what had happened in those caves. If properly motivated.

But that was Arthur's problem. Motivation. He had all the legitimate reasons in the world to confront Merlin, to hurl accusations at him, to hurl anything at him, to question him, imprison him, even kill him, if he was so inclined. No one else knew; there were no political upheavals or familial betrayals that physically kept him from the confrontation; there was nothing to stop him except for his own crippled confidence and conditioned inability to truly face down those whom he loved most. Not when he wanted nothing more than to un-know what he knew.

So Arthur spent most of the week yelling at everyone else. It was very cleansing.

Unfortunately for Arthur's coping mechanisms, his duties as king most discourteously intruded upon him at the end of that week, and the deepest of the damage of Merlin's deception truly hit him.

A crisis had struck Camelot. This was nothing particularly new; it wasn't even particularly high on the scale of the crises that Arthur had faced throughout his lifetime. But it was a crisis all the same.

A sorceress had entered the citadel. Arthur was more annoyed than anything else when he found out; far fewer sorceresses had taken to attacking Camelot since he had ascended to the throne. True, he had not lifted the ban on magic, and its practice was still technically punishable by death, but there had been no magical executions since Uther had died.

And yet here she was. Another sorceress. Why was it always the women? He always hated attacking women. The entire concept was ingrained in him as contemptible. Even now, even after all that Morgause had done to Camelot and his family, he still felt guilty when he reflected upon his sword battle with her.

Maybe it was just that women had an easier time getting into the citadel undetected that they were so frequently the successful invaders. Physically less threatening, more appealing to the guards, babes in arms…Arthur was beginning to think that women were infinitely more dangerous enemies than men in this age of chivalry.

His collapsing council chamber was doing nothing to dissuade him of this growing suspicion.

"Back! Back!" Arthur shouted, waving the frightened council members, serving women, and manservants back toward the door and to the walls of the room. He might not be able to get the door open, but he could at least get them away from the center of the crumbling roof overhead. He and the knights were advancing on the bright-eyed sorceress, but there was no reason for the rest of the people in the room to risk their own lives.

Plus, the knights had armor.

Of course, Merlin didn't. In recent years, in the midst of battle, Arthur would always think that it might be a wise idea to at least get the boy some mail or a helmet. For Merlin, he thought, it might even be a good idea for him to just always wear a helmet. But then battle would end, Merlin would be fine, and there would be wounded to take care of and fires to put out and strategies to plan and Arthur would forget all about giving Merlin protective gear until the next time they were thrown into a life-or-death situation.

In the beginning, Arthur had hoped that Merlin would realize that his lack of armor made it a very stupid idea for him to follow his prince into battle, that maybe he would figure this out and stay somewhere safe. He hadn't counted on Merlin's damnable loyalty being at least as strong as his terror of, seemingly, everything.

This loyalty and this bravery had seemed seriously diminished in Arthur's eyes during his week of impotent consideration. If he had magic, why should it be such a big deal for him to stay by Arthur's side in dangerous situations?

Now, in the first dangerous undertaking that they had faced side by side since Arthur had learned of Merlin's magic, as the rocks fell about their bodies and scratched their faces and collided with their limbs, Arthur knew why Merlin was brave. It wasn't that he had a power that could have helped to keep him safe or the fact that he was surrounded by the strongest knights in the five kingdoms; it was the sharp glint in his eyes that did not glow golden or cause things to happen that are not meant to happen in nature; it was the brightness of barely concealed terror and disbelief at the horrors before them and the absolute refusal to turn back and take cover and the high of battle that kept a man going when his body should have, by all means, collapsed by now that gave the proof. Merlin was brave and steadfast and had not yet moved from Arthur's right side, even as the sky fell about them. And Arthur hated him for it.

At that moment, however, Arthur had to hate him for it in the back of his mind. Right now, there was a crazed sorceress trying to tear down his castle. What was it with sorceresses and destroing the council chamber? What was wrong with attacking the courtyard or the linen room or somewhere else equally easily fixable? He supposed that sorceresses managed their budgets with magic and didn't have to clear their expenditures with an assembly of conservative elderly noblemen. If he didn't put a stop to this right now, this sorceress was going to cost him a tournament.

He had barely enough time to reflect, not for the first time, that the worries of being a prince were far less tedious than those of being king before he saw the largest chunk of ceiling that had yet fallen come crashing to the ground, only a few feet in front and to the left of him. When the dust cleared, it was only the red cape of Sir Michael that was visible from below the fallen rock. He knew that Sir Leon had been right next to Sir Michael as the knights advanced toward the sorceress, but he figured that Sir Leon was all right.

There were more screams now, and not just those of the knights as they were pelted with increasingly large bits of stone. The walls and borders of the rooms were not going to provide safety for the civilians in the room for much longer. If only they could get that door open…

The thought struck him so suddenly and so heavily that Arthur staggered, thinking that he had been struck by some falling debris. There was a way to get that door open. Yes, their swords and axes and even flung chairs had failed to so much as splinter the magically fortified wood of the door, so securely held in place by the sorceress determined to bring the rocks down on each and every person in the room. But there was a magician in the room who surely could at least crack the door open a little, standing right at his side. There were children in here! Women and old men and youths who had not yet begun to live! Arthur turned to stare at Merlin as though he had never seen him before.

Merlin held his gaze in confusion for a few seconds before both of their attentions were called away by the panicked shout of Sir Robin to Arthur's left. Although Sir Robin tended to shout in panic a lot in situations such as this, something in the rawness of his yell drew their attention immediately. Arthur, still in something of a daze and more conditioned to Robin's shrieks than Merlin, did not look immediately over at his yelling comrade. He saw Merlin look over his shoulder, then quickly shoot his gaze skyward. When he finally looked up, it was a very strange sight indeed that greeted his eyes.

He knew immediately why Sir Robin had screamed and for once, he didn't blame him. A huge chunk of ceiling, the largest that had yet fallen, was plummeting down at the trio of men. Instantly, with the finely honed reflexes of the greatest warrior in Camelot, Arthur reached out to grab the arms of the men at his sides and pull them down into cover. Robin came down easily enough; Arthur suspected that his knees had been buckling already anyway.

His grasp came up empty as he had grabbed for Merlin. His servant, who had already been crouched down as he advanced toward the fireplace before which the sorceress stood, had decided for some inconceivable reason to straighten his back and stand taller as the giant rock came flying down to kill them.

But it did not kill them, not even the foolishly standing Merlin. Instead, another chunk of debris, even larger than that that loomed frighteningly close to Merlin's lanky frame, came shooting laterally out of nowhere and knocked the falling stone away from over their heads and out through the window, shattering the glass. The crash of the two mighty rocks colliding so near above them made Arthur's ears ring so dizzily that he almost didn't hear the almighty boom that was the pair of boulders smashing into the rocks of the courtyard.

"Now that's what I call luck!" Sir Robin shouted over the chaos that still rained down around them before attempting to move toward the sorceress once again.

Yes, luck. The same luck that seemed to follow Arthur around on his deadliest of missions, that kept not only him but also his defenseless servant from any serious harm time and time again.

The same luck that was seemingly being denied to all of the cowering and weeping civilians who remained in this deathtrap of a council room. Arthur spared one more glare at the shaken Merlin before following Robin's advance forward, hoping against hope that somewhere in the dust, the other knights were making more progress than they were.

If so, none had made it to the front yet. Arthur stood up to his full height briefly to see how far they were from the sorceress, so sweet and innocent-looking in her pale dress and bright curls.

Things did not look good. He saw that he, Robin, and Merlin were actually the ones closest to the where she stood. The rest of the knights seemed preoccupied with dodging falling debris, apparently lacking the luck that protected Arthur. In some ways, Arthur figured that Robin was fortunate to have been with the king and his servant, despite their proximity to the witch. They may have been the three closest to the murderous sorceress, but Robin probably would have been left to die with the rest of the knights who did not seem to have Arthur's luck.

This did not seem like the time to complain about anything that kept them going, though. The witch had to be stopped and, if anything, she was growing stronger. While she had originally been conducting her sorcery from a safe place behind the overturned council table, where she was protected from their crossbow fire, she now stood on Arthur's throne—of course— that she had moved behind the tipped table so as to use the increased visibility from her higher point to target various knights with the falling chunks of ceiling. Arthur did not have the luxury of turning the check on the status of his men behind him, but the screams were not heartening.

The sorceress turned to meet his eyes, blurry with tears conjured by a mist made crushed rock and fracturing timbers, and smiled. Enraged, frustrated, and reeling with fear for the rest of his people within the room, Arthur let out a roar of pure fury and began to stagger forward, clutching Excalibur, as though he could strike her down with sword and steel. She stepped off of Arthur's throne and began stand directly behind to the overturned table that had served as her shield, peppered with crossbow bolts and thrown knives.

Four things then happened in very quick succession. The biggest chunk of ceiling yet began to fall directly in front of Arthur; Merlin's hands shot forward to yank the king back to safety; Arthur heard an awful scraping noise, as though wood was being dragged across stone at a very high speed; and there was a long, dragged out, and agonized scream that Arthur had only ever heard issuing from mouths about to exhale their last. And then there was silence.

Arthur stood once more, vaguely feeling Merlin's hands helping him up, and surveyed the room as best he could through the still settling dust, shaken by the sudden cessation of violence. The only still-crumbling rocks were those that had already fallen. Arthur's throne lay on its side, empty. The sorceress was gone.

No, not gone. She was still there. Arthur could see her, realizing that it had not only been the dust that had first obscured her from his vision. It was smoke. She lay, clearly dead, burning in the massive fireplace at the head of the council room, installed by Arthur after the last time that he had had to renovate the council room after the last sorceress had annihilated it.

She was burning. The flames that leapt around her were bright and large and enveloping; the entire hearth was ablaze, despite the lack of much wood and the rocky smothering dust that still floated in the air. Arthur didn't see why this should be so; he had seen many a person's body consumed by pyre, and it had never looked like this. Perhaps witches were just particularly flammable.

But why was she burning? It seemed unlikely that she had tripped, stumbled back fourteen feet, dragging the table with her, and landed in the fireplace to light up the room for the survivors.

Arthur felt a hand clap on his shoulder. It stayed there.

Merlin.

"It's okay, Arthur. It's all over now. It'll be okay."

They stood that way for a long time. Merlin, despite the fact that there were plenty of other things that he could be doing to help the injured and pick through the remnants of the council room, he stayed still, his hand on Arthur's shoulder. And Arthur stood, feeling the soft weight of Merlin's hand, warm even through his armor, as he stared at the fireplace and burning sorceress and shattered remains of the council table that had apparently smashed into the wall with enough force to break into hundreds of pieces the single slab of thick mahogany.

Suddenly, very suddenly, Arthur whirled around to face Merlin, somehow truly aware for the first time that he was shorter than his servant. "Merlin, what happened."

It was not a question.

Merlin raised his eyebrows, and Arthur saw it. He saw a story fall into place in Merlin's blue eyes, so similar to his own. He knew that Merlin had not only spent those moments of standing together filled with silent sympathy for his king, but had spared at least a few in the concoction of a story to explain to Arthur just what had occurred. Arthur knew that Merlin's concern and empathetic sadness were genuine; didn't he know him well enough to see that? But Arthur also saw a flash of intelligence behind those eyes, followed by the deliberate raising of a wall of what Arthur had always called his "fool-face"—the expression that Merlin wore whenever he did something particularly stupid or clumsy. How could he have never seen this before?

Merlin, seemingly unaware of the seething anger that was beginning to finally bubble over in his companion, nodded at the fireplace and took a deep breath, no doubt so that he could give his explanation as quickly as possible. "Well, it looks to me, Arthur, like that big piece of ceiling there fell just as you were going to challenge the sorceress. Fortunately I pulled you back in time, with great bravery and presence of mind, if I may say so myself. Then the concussion was so strong that it pushed back the council table into the sorceress and knocked her into the fire. It's just a good thing that you were able to drive her back behind that table because otherwise she'd probably still be alive and we'd all be in a whole heap of trouble. And rocks." He stopped talking and nodded at Arthur in an almost respectful way, and Arthur saw it again.

This was how Merlin had done it. He'd act the fool, do his magic secretly, save the day in some fantastical manner that clearly could not have been done by any normal man, then give the credit to Arthur, who would be so proud of himself that he would just accept that whatever heroism had occurred must have come from him. Was Merlin right all this time? Was he really that arrogant?

Merlin had left Arthur's side and was carefully picking his way away from the king, who still stood facing the burning witch. He had already assumed that Arthur would buy his story. Why wouldn't he? Arthur had bought them dozens and dozens of times in the past. Why should he be able to pick up on the holes in the story this time?

And then Arthur snapped.

He didn't shout; he didn't even raise his voice particularly loudly. He didn't even turn to face Merlin at first. But his voice was low, harsh, and deadly enough that the entire room heard and, when Merlin turned, there was genuine fear in his face. He clearly did not fear any physical punishment from Arthur; those days had passed, as far as he knew. No, the fear in Merlin's eyes was deeper. This was a fear that he was caught.

In past years, this flash of true fright in Merlin's eyes might have triggered pity, made him want to go easy on the servant. But it just infuriated him all the more. Why should Merlin be so afraid that Arthur should know something so fundamental about him? Why should the idea that Arthur, whom Merlin had called a friend on more than one occasion, found out something clearly important and so elemental to the servant be so terrifying? Did Merlin really have so little respect for Arthur's integrity, his willingness to listen, his intelligence, that he felt that he could never be slightly honest with him? His friend, his master, his king?

Yes, Arthur certainly snapped.

"So, Merlin. What you're telling me is that the concussion of a falling piece of stone was enough to send that huge table, that almost definitely weighs more than any of the fallen rocks…to send it flying fourteen feet back with enough force to knock the sorceress into the fireplace?"

Merlin took a few steps back from Arthur, apparently involuntarily. So Arthur advanced on Merlin, who very deliberately stood his ground this time.

"That's what it looks like to me."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, putting on what Merlin called his King Face. Merlin claimed that Arthur did it whenever he wanted to seem impressive or did not want to have to explain himself about something. This did not seem to reassure Merlin, who looked jumpier and jumpier by the second. "Have you ever seen that happen before, Merlin?"

"No. But this isn't exactly a situation that happens a lot. Not this specific situation anyway. I mean, it is the council room…"

"But you didn't see this happen."

Merlin shook his head, his eyes wide. "No."

Arthur looked around him and addressed the room at large. No one had moved since Arthur had first begun addressing Merlin in this tone. "Anyone else? Did any of you see this happen? Anyone see the shock wave that sent the witch into the fireplace after smashing her with a table?"

No one dared respond. There were a few shaken heads, but Arthur accepted their silence as answers in the negative. So Arthur turned to Merlin and gave the least reassuring smile that he had ever given. He could feel it. And he was glad.

"Well, that makes sense, Merlin. Thank you, for explaining so fully, how I managed to kill the sorceress by standing up and frowning at her and terrifying her so completely."

Merlin nodded and made to leave the room. "Well, if that's all, I'm sure that Gaius probably could use some help with all the wounded."

"Of course. But one more thing, Merlin."

Merlin stopped and turned back to face Arthur, although he did not seem to want to re-approach him. "Yes, sire?"

"That rock that was falling before. The one that was going to kill myself, Sir Robin, and…you."

"Yes?"

"Why didn't it?"

Merlin shrugged, looking more panicky than ever. "I couldn't say, sire."

"Really."

"Yes."

Arthur began slowly taking his gloves off, not looking directly at Merlin. "Because it looked to me like it was about to crush all three of us, until another large rock came flying sideways out of nowhere and hit it hard enough to send it out the window and into the courtyard. Where it hopefully did not fall and kill anyone out there."

Merlin bit his lip. "Did it?"

"It did. You didn't see that?"

"I don't think so, no."

"It would be very strange, wouldn't it."

"Yes. Sire, if I might go and…"

"Some might even calling it unnatural."

"I suppose so. May I-"

Arthur finally removed both of his gloves. Merlin looked at them as though they were poisonous snakes, and Arthur realized that Merlin was afraid that Arthur was going to throw down his gauntlet and challenge him. Arthur's tone, the hardness of his eyes, and the width of his smile seemed to be effectively frightening him. The thought of challenging Merlin to an actual fight was so ridiculous that Arthur couldn't help but bark out a short, animalistic laugh.

This did not seem to reassure Merlin.

"So you agree that it's strange."

Merlin nodded, his hands behind his back. "Yes."

Arthur suddenly stood, met Merlin's gaze, and gave a far friendlier smile. "Okay. Thank you, Merlin. I was just checking. You may go." Arthur dismissed him with a nod and that same frozen smile.

Merlin turned and seemed to exhale with all of the breath that he'd ever held in his body. He managed to take half a dozen steps before stopping and asking one soft question over his shoulder, not daring to ask it to Arthur's face. Arthur could see him clasp his hands together more tightly behind his back, and Arthur knew that it was because he was trying to hide that he was shaking. His voice, when he finally spoke, was not much steadier.

"You know, don't you?"

Arthur did not answer until Merlin turned to face him, until Merlin could look him straight in the eye and hear those four words that he had dreaded and anticipated for over six years.

"Yeah, Merlin. I know."

If Arthur had expected anything, it was that he would now and forever have the upper hand in any exchanges between Merlin and himself. He was therefore as shocked as he had been when he had first glimpsed Merlin doing magic when he saw Merlin's shoulders level off, his back straighten, his arms steady, and his chin raise level to the rock-strewn floor so that he had to gaze down in order to meet Arthur's eyes. Merlin had never looked so sure, so confident, so relieved, or so alive as he did just then.

"Then tell me something, Arthur. Are you afraid?"

And Merlin smiled.


	6. Flashes Backward And Fallings Forward

When he was a boy, Arthur had been bitten by his favorite hound. It grew infected, and he was secluded to his chambers for nearly two weeks, by which point he was healthier than he had been before the bite. There were two nights of vigil held outside of his window after the bite for, unbeknownst to the restless young man within, the people of Camelot had been told that their prince was bitten by a mad dog.

Arthur never caught the madness, and it wasn't until after he was given a clean bill of health and allowed out of his chambers that he learned that they had killed his dog anyway. Mad or not, Uther taught him, no creature should be permitted to savage a royal and survive. The king never thought to explain to his son that perhaps the dog would have never thought to bite had Arthur not baited her.

It was of his favorite hound that he was thinking when Merlin stared him down and asked him for the second time if he was afraid.

Arthur had heard him the first time, but hadn't Merlin always been the one nagging him to think before he spoke? When Arthur answered this most simple and pivotal of questions, he wanted to be able to either say "no" and mean it with all of his heart or to be able to lie convincingly about it.

Was he afraid?

Arthur shook his head, trying to clear it. Too much had happened in too short a space of time; two minutes ago he had been dodging chunks of rock that were falling from the ceiling. Now, he was struggling to answer a yes-or-no question posed to him by his servant. This would not do.

So Arthur did what he always did if he needed to back away and view a situation from afar when making decisions of state. He simplified it and listed the things that he knew and what his realistic options were for dealing with them.

The council room was falling apart.

Easy; the royal architects would have to be summoned. Although, considering the frequency with which the citadel was damaged by invading sorceresses, he should perhaps look into getting them all rooms at the palace. Messengers would need to be sent.

There were still dozens of people in the council room.

The door needed to be checked to see if the enchantress' magical seal still held after her death. Arthur made a vague gesture toward the doorway at two of the knights. Whether it was because the need for a clear opening was painfully obvious or because the knights were generally familiar with Arthur's penchant for overcomplicated hand signals, the pair immediately began working to prize the door open. Their work was energetic, if somewhat lacking in grace.

Many people were dead or wounded.

Gaius would need to be summoned, men assembled for transporting the dead, and women gathered to aid with the nursing. Considering the noise and chaos generated by the battle within the council room, Gaius was probably already on his way. Arthur would leave Gaius to organize care for the many injured; by his time in life, Gaius would no doubt find Arthur's attempts at aid more of a hindrance than help.

Those still capable of movement should be guided out of the room.

This was no hard task; now that the doors were hopefully soon to be opened, the people would no doubt start leaving in packs.

Merlin had posed a simple yes-or-no query.

He had to answer it. He would carefully formulate an intelligent response to Merlin's question, making certain that it was wise, firm, authoritative, and mature, inviting further adult discussion between the two old friends. This would be easy enough. He was the king, after all. Wisdom ran through his veins.

"Guards, you will restrain the sorcerer!"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Fortunately, none of the guards to whom Arthur had spoken noticed this insubordination; they were too busy scanning the room to try to spot whoever this mysterious sorcerer was that their king was referring to. Arthur had to physically point at Merlin before any of them started to make the connection.

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Merlin. Take him!"

The knights, guards, and remaining civilians turned as one to look at the servant. Merlin raised his eyebrows and waved.

"Sorry, but, did you call Merlin a sorcerer?" That had to be Gwaine. Starting a sentence with "sorry, but" had basically become Gwaine's version of polite address.

"Yes, I did. Now take him!"

None of Arthur's men moved except to exchange uncomfortable looks with each other and stare questioningly at Merlin. Geoffrey of Monmouth, one of the few council members who was not waiting anxiously for the door to be cracked, approached the king and patted his shoulder kindly. "Sire, perhaps you should sit down. Sir Robin, Sir William, if you could bring his throne?...thank you. Sire, you're confused. I fear that you have taken a blow to the head."

Arthur waved Geoffrey, who was trying to usher him into his dusty throne, away peevishly. "I have not taken a blow to the head!"

Sir Leon stepped forward. "Sire, you have accused Merlin of sorcery. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, of course I do. It was three seconds ago. And it was because he is a sorcerer."

"I'm pretty sure that someone would have noticed if Merlin was capable of magic," Leon laughed. "His food would probably be better, for one thing!"

Arthur saw Merlin scowl. Of all the things to cross him right now, it was a slight on his cooking.

Leon continued. "I mean no disrespect, sire, but I am certain that as soon as we manage to open that door, Gaius will come in and make sure that your head will suffer no permanent damage."

"I am not—"

"Sire—"

"Surely—"

"Okay, this is ridiculous," Merlin muttered. The secret was out anyway. He rolled his eyes again before striding forward purposefully, without so much as a sway or stumble, and making a swift pushing motion, as though he were trying to force close a particularly stubborn drawer.

The immensely heavy door that had preceded Uther's reign by more generations than even Geoffrey of Monmouth cared to count flew backwards off of its hinges, smashing into the stone wall of the corridor behind it with such force that it splintered in two upon impact.

No one in the council chamber moved. Arthur didn't think that anyone even breathed. The silence was complete and oppressive until suddenly shattered by the instigator himself, who swore loudly and waded through the debris toward the doorframe. "Oh, I really hope that there was no one standing on the other side of that door…"

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?" Merlin turned to face Gwaine, who had addressed him, with an easy smile.

Arthur didn't know what was more insulting; Merlin's insolence or his refusal to act as though the things that he was doing were in any way out of the ordinary. He was looking at all of them as though they were the ones acting bizarrely.

Gwaine approached Merlin and circled him appraisingly before finally looking into his eyes, as though convinced that this was an imposter and he would be the one to root him out. He murmured Merlin's name once more before backing away, wide-eyed, without touching him. He apparently had nothing more to say. Gwaine took his place back in the middle of the pack of knights, and Arthur saw out of the corner of his eye as Gwaine started to examine himself for a head wound.

It was nice to see that he was not the only one having difficulty processing.

Merlin walked back into the center of the room to face Arthur defiantly, although he still stood several feet away. Arthur was unsure if this was out of respect for or fear of the king, but he was glad for some distance between them with this conversation.

"So," Arthur began.

"So," Merlin agreed.

Off to a good start. Nice and civil.

"You're a sorcerer."

Merlin nodded amiably. "So it would seem."

Arthur nodded, thoughtful and serious as he stared intently at the cracked floor of the council chamber, feeling very old. "And what do you have to say for yourself?"

Merlin blinked. "What do you mean?"

Arthur looked up. "I mean…what do you have to say for yourself? You do know that magic is against the law, do you not?"

"Yes, Arthur. It has come to my attention once or twice over the last six years."

"So what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing!" Merlin sighed. "Listen, Arthur, I will answer any question that you ask of me. Well, probably any question that you ask of me. But I have no excuses to give for my usage of magic. I don't regret it. It's who I am."

Arthur gaped at him for a long moment; then, remembering that there were, in fact, other people in what was left of the room, he turned furiously to his men. "Guards, you will restrain the sorcerer."

Before any of them had the chance to move—whether they were going to or not—Merlin snapped back, "Guards, you will not." He did not avert his gaze from Arthur as he spoke.

This was all wrong; Merlin did not speak to him like this in front of other people. He rarely even had the nerve to speak to him like this when they were alone. This was all wrong.

"Guards, you will arrest the sorcerer. Now." Some of them began to shuffle toward Merlin at the increased sharpness of Arthur's tone. Merlin finally shifted stare to the approaching men.

"Guards, you will step back from the sorcerer."

There was no anger in Merlin's words, no malice or fury or threat. But there was so much cold authority in his voice and so little deference in the gaze that he affixed on each of the knights in turn that they did not dare go any nearer. This was not the demeanor of the snarky dogsbody that they knew.

This cessation of movement was apparently not enough for him. "Sire, I am loyal to you and to Camelot, whatever else you may think. I respect the men who work to keep it safe with every fiber of my being. But if you think that I'm not willing to break a few bones here and there to get my way on this, you are sorely mistaken. Guards, you will back away."

If Arthur had not been looking into Merlin's eyes as he said this, had not seen for himself that there was no flash of gold in their blue depths, he would have believed that Merlin must have used magic to make all of those well-trained knights of Camelot fall back from him in a single stumbling movement.

Merlin smiled again. "So."

Arthur gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears. Count on Merlin to find a way to annoy him when they were in the middle of a legitimate confrontation. "Shut up, Merlin."

"What?"

"Shut. Up. I am trying to think."

"Come on, Arthur. I'm not sure I can wait for how long that'll take."

"Merlin—"

"You know what, maybe you should pop that sword back in the stone for a while. I'm not sure that you're ready for it. Maybe you both need to marinate for another few years before-"

"Merlin, you will hold your tongue!"

"Arth—"

"No. No! You have no right to address me like this! You lost that right the moment that you admitted to sorcery. I will hear none of your words."

Merlin's smile dropped, and his eyes grew so sad and so still and so ruthless that he was all but unrecognizable as the boy who had wandered into Camelot all those years ago. "No, sire. You will not silence me. Not on this day. You can do what you like with me tomorrow, Arthur Pendragon, but you will hear me out today."

And then he lit the world on fire.


	7. It Takes Two Flints

Arthur didn't cry out, not at first. The sheer amazement that had washed over him as he looked around him left him far too breathless to make a sound.

It hadn't stopped him from moving. Almost immediately, he had fallen to the floor in an instinctive attempt to throw some distance between himself and the fire, and down had been the only direction of any safety. Merlin had somehow done something—cast a spell, set an enchantment, something—that had set the entire room ablaze. With the muttering of a few strange words, a glowing of eyes, and the decisive swinging of hands from hips to height, Merlin had encased himself and his king in a room of fire. The walls of the council room had vanished, and the holes in the ceiling rendered from the rampage of the sorceress were no longer visible above the total roof of flame.

So Arthur fell down.

His first worry, he would later be ashamed to admit, was for the integrity of this section of the castle. One magician had tried to tear it down, now another was trying to burn it up.

"Merlin…" Arthur coughed. He stayed on the ground, assuming that if he rose to his full height that he would choke on what was sure to be massive amounts of rolling black smoke, and crawled under a roughly U-shaped piece of fallen rock that would surely afford him some protection from the inferno. Although, his adrenaline and panic seemed to be keeping him from feeling the heat. At least something was going right.

"What?" He saw Merlin's face peek into the other side of the U. He seemed distracted and jumpy, as though he too were overwhelmed with adrenaline.

"What the hell did you do?" Arthur choked out. Merlin just gave him a funny look and walked away and out of Arthur's line of vision. He sat very still, wincing and waiting for the cries of agony that would surely be coming from his servant's burning throat at any moment. He wasn't particularly happy with Merlin at the moment, but burning to death in a room like this…what a horrible way to die. Merlin…

But there were no screams. In fact, the only thing that Arthur could hear over the billowing that always accompanies large blazes was a sort of pattering that grew louder and softer and he waited and listened. He had no idea what it could possibly be. What sort of material did that when consumed by flames? Surely not a man.

Since Merlin did not seem to be dying a horrible and fiery death, Arthur shakily pulled himself to his feet, vaguely wondering why he wasn't roasting like a pig in his armor, and scanning the room for both the wayward wizard and the source of the strange pattering.

They were one and the same. Pacing back and forth in front of one of the walls of fire where the doorway had once stood, dangerously close to its leaping flames, was Merlin, whose boots were making the soft footfalls that had so puzzled the hiding king.

Having discovered the source of the sound, Arthur found himself no less puzzled. "Merlin…" he began again. "Did you—"

"Yes, Arthur. I set the room on fire." Merlin did not stop pacing and seemed to be speaking as quickly as he was physically able.

"Why the hell—okay, forget why. Put it out!"

"No." He wasn't even looking at Arthur. Apparently, the idea of smothering the flames in the room entirely made of fire wasn't of particular interest to the man who had set it alight. Arthur had to find a reasonable way to get through to Merlin. Perhaps Merlin just needed to understand why the situation was slightly out of hand. Okay. Arthur could do that. He was good at explaining.

Arthur picked up a chunk of rock and threw it at Merlin.

He regretted it almost as soon as the stone left his hand. It was not that he would have been particularly averse to seeing Merlin in a bit of pain just then, but he would certainly have a much harder time getting straight answer out of him if he was concussed and bleeding from the ears. And he had a feeling that this was not a fire that could be put out with dirt or water.

He opened his mouth to call out a warning, but even as he drew breath, he knew that he would be too late. He knew that he would hit his mark; Merlin may have been pacing back and forth, and Arthur may have felt as though he was bleeding from the ears, but the king had not become the best warrior in Camelot by losing his ability to aim with every little shakeup that he experienced.

It was therefore with great surprise that he saw Merlin glance up at the soaring rock with an expression of mild interest, raise his right hand, and bat it away, as easily as a cat might a ball of yarn, with a golden dome-shaped shield that seemed to emanate from his fingertips. And kept pacing.

"Merlin!" Arthur was aghast.

"What!" Merlin finally looked at the king and took a pause in his continuous crossing back and forth before his wall of fire. He was shaking from head to toe, but there was no fear in the young man's eyes. Only…alertness. As though each and every one of his senses was suddenly magnified tenfold. Arthur didn't think that Merlin could have stood still if his life depended on it at that very moment. He wouldn't have been surprised if his pupils had dilated from the sheer exhilaration that shone on Merlin's face.

"Put out the fire! You're going to get us killed!"

Merlin started pacing again. "No, I'm not."

"Merlin!"

"What?"

"Put out your fire before we choke or burn to death!"

Merlin deigned to spare Arthur a glance, still quivering. "Really? Are we going to choke or burn to death? Tell me, Arthur, are you overheated? Even a little bit? Having trouble breathing?"

For the first time, Arthur stopped to evaluate himself. Merlin was right. He wasn't even uncomfortably warm. He was sweating out what felt like half of his bodily fluids, but that didn't seem to have anything to do with the temperature. There was no smoke obscuring his vision and, although he was admittedly breathing somewhat faster than usual, he had no difficulty with his inhalations.

"So, we're safe."

"Yes, Arthur," said Merlin in an annoyed voice, as though Arthur's had been the most unreasonable question in the history of unreasonable questions. "Now please let me think."

"Not until you put out the fire!"

"Why? It's not hurting us!"

"Forget us, what about the building? This room is already halfway collapsed. Why the hell do you feel that you need to finish it off with a fire?"

"The room is fine. Well, it's still falling apart. But the fire's not doing anything to it."

"That's impossible!"

"Arthur, we're standing in a room of fire without so much as needing to remove a layer of clothing. Instead of meeting our horrible deaths from heat or flame or smoke, we're standing here and having an argument about architecture. And you think that the building's ability to stand is what's impossible in this scenario?"

Okay. Okay. This still made sense. Merlin didn't want to kill himself, so he made the building and interior of the fire room safe. Arthur would be safe for now. But…

"The people! Merlin, the knights and the council members and the servants that were all still in the room, who hadn't made it out yet, have you killed them? Do you just not care anymore now that your secret's out, so you've decided to massacre the palace staff?"

"The people are fine."

"They're not in here, safe with us!"

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Merlin muttered. He stopping pacing again and faced Arthur, hands on his hips, glaring at Arthur just as he had on the morning when Arthur had presented him with a white grass-stained tunic and asked for it to be cleaned in time for the afternoon's training. Clearly, this was an equally serious matter to Merlin. "The walls of fire don't extend all the way to the walls of the council room. It's a room inside the room. The people still can get in and out of the council room. The fire will not hurt anything that was already there when I summoned it. Anything that goes into the flames now that they're lit will burn, so anyone on the outside is stuck outside and we are stuck inside until the time come that the flames are banished back where they came from and, no, I'm not letting you out, so don't bother asking."

Arthur absorbed this and immediately assembled a list of questions. Prioritizing them, he asked what was certainly the most urgent of them.

"Where did they come from?"

"You don't want to know. Look, Arthur, I know that you're maybe a little confused right now and I'll explain everything as soon as I can but I can't yet because I need to figure some things out so I need you to be quiet for a little bit so that I can think. So please just…shut up for a few minutes. Okay? Thanks." Merlin didn't wait for an answer before he turned away and resumed his pacing.

Arthur didn't know what else to do. So, he shut up and let Merlin think.

It was a very strange feeling.


	8. To Make A Flame

Merlin paced and thought and ignored Arthur for a long time.

At least, it felt like a long time. He had switching from pacing back and forth in front of one wall of the fire room and taken to completing lap after lap around the entire flickering space. Perhaps it had really only been a few seconds; Arthur was judging by how many circuits that Merlin completed, and he was walking so quickly that Arthur completely lost track of the passage of time. So he sat on the remnants of his throne in the middle of the hijacked council chamber and watched his servant walk round and round and round. The repetition swept through the stages of annoying, headache-inducing, boring, and reassuringly constant within only a few minutes, and Arthur's mind was allowed a welcome break from having to think.

Finally, Merlin stopped circling the room. Arthur was temporarily dizzied; his eyes kept following Merlin's trajectory around the room when there was no Merlin to follow, and he nearly fell over as he tried to stand up from his throne without stopping to gather his bearings. It may have been his castle, but this didn't feel like it was his council chamber anymore.

Shaking his head, he planted his hands firmly at the sides of his belt, making himself look as big as possible while still leaving him easy access to his sword. This was more out of habit than anything; Arthur knew that Merlin had seen him assume this stance often enough (although usually from behind, where Arthur had assumed that he was hiding) that it would probably be more comforting in its familiarity to him than intimidating.

Merlin certainly did not appear intimidated, but there was also no hint of comfort on his face. Just excitement and energy and anticipation and…something else less easily defined. Something more complicated and rarely seen by Arthur in the young man's face…was it curiosity? No, this was deeper, older than curiosity. This was wonder, the state of being dazzled by something unknown, of watching something unpredictable unfold, of wanting to interact with something remarkable without having to interfere, the desire for coexistence without intrusion. Yes, this was wonder.

Merlin bounced up and down and took several deep breaths before steadying himself on the frame of what had once been a chair, facing Arthur from nearly ten feet away. Arthur felt as though they were standing nose to nose.

"Alright, Arthur. I'm sure that you want to lay into me, with questions or insults or, you know…fists. But first, I am going to ask you three questions. Then you can have your way with me and I won't stop you."

Merlin was all but shouting; Arthur wondered if perhaps he was as dizzied as Arthur by the constant movement and sameness of their surroundings and therefore thought that they were farther apart than they were. They may not have been as close as would be typical for a conversation between a pair of people, but he didn't have to bellow for his voice to make it the ten feet to his expectant king.

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur nodded.

"Alright. Arthur: are you currently uninjured?" Merlin was enunciating everything as though his life depended on exact vocalization of every distinct syllable of his sentences, still at the top of his lungs.

Arthur nodded again, hoping that Merlin would hurry up with his questions and stop shouting at him.

But Merlin shook his head and said in his normal voice, "Arthur, you have to say it out loud. Nice and loud."

"Why? You're ten feet away from me."

"Warlocks are notoriously hard of hearing."

"What?"

"Just answer the question, Arthur!"

Arthur sighed and glared at Merlin with as much heat as he could manage; given their current location, it did not seem to have as blistering an effect as it might have in a somewhat less combusting space. So, he threw back his head and yelled back, "Yes, I am uninjured!"

Unnecessary it may have been, but Arthur had to admit that it felt good to yell.

Merlin mouthed "thank you" back at Arthur. It may have been without a sound, but Arthur could have sworn that he heard something decidedly sarcastic in the pleasantry.

"Okay, question two!" Merlin was shouting again. Arthur was glad that he already had a headache. Developing one now might have been too much for the frustrated king. "Do you have any reason to believe that you are in any danger right now?"

"You mean other than the ridiculous fire that you currently have burning up my council chambers?" Arthur was perfectly happy shouting that.

"Yes, Arthur."

"No."

Merlin raised his eyebrows, and Arthur wanted to throttle him. "Fine. No, I do not believe that I am in any danger right now! Other than of killing you with my bare hands!"

Merlin laughed. "I would like to see you try!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing. Question three!"

Arthur groaned.

"Question three: do you feel that you need help in any manner right now?"

Arthur gave Merlin his most sarcastic and most threatening smile before bellowing at him. "No, I do not need any help! In fact, all that I want to do right now is murder you, and I plan on doing that all by myself!"

"Thank you," said Merlin, suddenly businesslike. "Now one more thing…"

"You said three questions!" Arthur found it much easier to focus if he just held his attention exclusively on his companion rather than trying to justify the other man's image with the swirling flames that surrounded him, no matter where he stood.

"Okay, fine. Three questions and then one little tiny thing." With the very best of his many condescending gestures of dismissal, Arthur gave a stiff wave at Merlin, indicating permission without approval.

Because Arthur was definitely in the position to be giving permission for anything.

A smile grew on Merlin's mouth; his most irritating smile. It was how Merlin always sort of puckered his lips when he was trying to not smile and clearly thought that he was succeeding in not looking even a little bit amused. Arthur had time to muse that Merlin may have been a master of sorcery, but he was certainly not a master of subtlety before his council chamber began yet another cycle of destruction.

With a most unkingly shout, Arthur fell back into his throne and yanked his knees up to his chest. All around him, all of the rocks that had fallen from the ceiling of the chamber—the large blocks, the smaller chunks, the thousands of scattered pebbled—began to swirl through the air. It was only when his eyes followed the path of what looked to be the remnants of a stained glass window that he caught sight of Merlin, eyes ablaze once more and arms sliding gracefully to and fro in the air.

At his direction, the huge rocks were breaking down and the pebbles bunching together so that soon there flew through the air hundreds of similarly sized stones. In four swift swipes of his palms, each of the four surrounding walls of the flaming room were obscured by conglomerations of jagged stones that had only seconds previously littered the floor as morbid reminders of the damage that magic could do.

When Arthur was able to stand again, he found that he had been wrong earlier when he had thought that he would never again be in such a surreal situation, having been encased in a doorless room of fire. Now, his mind was most certainly changed.

The walls of flame were still there; Arthur could see them leaping and licking out wherever there were gaps between the imperfectly shaped stones that had been assembled before them. Only the flames on the ceiling were unobscured.

This was somehow far eerier to Arthur than the room of fire. Before, the uniformity had been unsettling, but the sheer unlikelihood of ever realistically being encased in a room with walls quite literally constructed of flame had been so overwhelming that his unease had never become particularly overwhelming. Fire was not solid.

But now, the walls looked more like…walls. And there are few things for terrifying than being trapped in a room without doors.

Especially one that still seemed to be on fire. This just felt unnecessary.

Arthur whirled around and advanced on Merlin. "Great. Great! What the hell have you done now?"

Merlin backed away with practiced ease. He was far too used to being chased by an irritated Arthur to be too taken aback by his sudden pursuit. "What? I just…fortified the fire walls."

Arthur laughed, somewhat hysterically and very sarcastically. "Oh, no, has a problem arisen with your room made of fire?"

"No, don't worry, it's fine. I'm just giving us a little privacy." Merlin shrugged as if this was the most natural thing in the world as he maneuvered a stone slab between them.

"What do you mean, privacy? There's no one else here!"

Merlin didn't answer. He just thumbed over his shoulder, pointing directly into one of his walls from hell.

Arthur actually felt his own eyes bug out. "Wait, you mean all the people on the other side of the fire could hear us?"

"Yeah." Merlin nodded in a very matter-of-fact manner, as though this settled the matter and they could move on to more pressing business.

Arthur was compelled to calmly disagree. "We couldn't hear them! I mean, I'm assuming that they're not all standing there silently, staring at the room made of fire!"

"Magic fire, Arthur. Just…go with it."

"Go with it?" Arthur had never heard his own voice go that high-pitched. He hadn't previously known that it could go that high.

"Yeah. Go with it. Why did you think that I had you yelling reassurances? They're probably all terrified out there. I didn't want them to worry."

"Then maybe you should not have conjured a giant room made of fire in the middle of their castle!"

Merlin shook his head, almost pityingly, at Arthur. "You seem very preoccupied with the 'room made of fire' part of this situation."

"I can't imagine why!"

"Listen, Arthur, I can't really explain how it works, but I can tell you that you are perfectly safe. Unless I pass out or die or something and then our bodies are crushed by falling piles of rock and fire. But I feel fine. You just have to…trust me."

Arthur just stared at him.

Merlin took a deep breath. His manic mood seemed to be deflating quickly now that they were, apparently, 'alone.' "Okay, you may have some doubts about my…communication skills right now. I can understand if you're not very happy with me right now. But Arthur—"

"Not very happy? Merlin, I am furious!"

"Why?" There was no tone of insolence in his voice, no hint of smugness over Arthur's impotent anger with their current scenario. Merlin sounded like he honestly wanted to hear what Arthur had to say on the matter. Like this was an argument between people of equally justifiable points and that he truly wanted to hear Arthur's opinion. Like this was to be an in-depth and calm conversation.

Shouting seemed like a much better plan. Of course, throwing things was starting to seem like a less appetizing plan that it initially had. If Merlin's collapsing into unconsciousness would lead to their deaths in a horrifying and painful storm of elemental collapse, Arthur should probably stop throwing rocks at him. In theory, he would just go for arm or foot shots, but Arthur's subconscious tended to affect his aim when he was as marginally annoyed as he was at that moment. Okay, no shouting. Merlin was probably expecting him to yell, the superior little…

That was not helping. No insults…no directly provoked insults. He could be calm. If that's what it took to get through to Merlin, that's what he would do. Calm.

Arthur took a deep breath of his own. He'd spent plenty of time imagining this confrontation in his head over the past week, planning out scathing and authoritative speeches that would no doubt intimidate Merlin into compliance and submission. But he had never imagined the confrontation occurring in a doorless room of rock and fire in a situation over which he had no control beyond verbal influence on the man who had conjured it. And it seemed that his influence was not particularly influential at the moment. He would take this step-by-step. He would start with the irrefutable facts that were on his side, that Merlin could not deny were his own transgressions.

"I always knew that you were stupid, Merlin, but I didn't think that you were this stupid! You want to know why I'm mad? Let's start with the fire room."

"Would you let it go about the fire room? I told you that it's perfectly safe."

"Well, excuse me for not taking you on your word, Merlin."

"Arthur, I just threw a witch into a fireplace to protect everyone who was in this room from falling rock. Do you think that I did that just so that I could kill them all with fire?"

"Maybe. You use magic, just like her. Just like every single sorcerer and sorceress who had tried to kill me and usurp my thrown throughout my life. Just like Agravaine and just like Morgana and just like—"

Merlin colored and took a few angry steps toward Arthur, losing his serene exterior for the first time since he had isolated them together.

"No, don't you—don't you dare lump me in with Agravaine or Morgana. They betrayed you, Arthur, they actively worked to undermine everything that you stood for and to take your power for yourself. When have I ever done that? If anything, I am the person in this castle who takes the biggest brunt of your power plays without so much as a request for a promotion, all because it might take me away from your side where you need me most. I never tried to take your power because I never wanted it. I never wanted to see you act as submissively as I have had to. I lied to you. Okay, yes, I lied to you a lot. For a long time. But I would be dead if I had not. Say what you will about your reign, but Uther would have had me executed before I had the chance to say so much as a word in my own defense. And if I were dead, you would be dead. A thousand times over."

There was a brief silence, in which Arthur tried to avoid absorbing Merlin's words. He heard them and carefully filed them away for later consideration. Whatever else he may have been thinking about Merlin at that moment, he didn't truly fear for his life.

Although if Merlin was allowed to lose his temper, then so was he. He nodded, his eyes as furious as they had ever been, and began to close the distance once more between himself and his servant.

"Go ahead then, Merlin. You may not have done everything exactly as they did, but treachery is still treachery, no matter how a man goes about doing it. You broke so many of the laws of Camelot that I am going to have no choice but to make formal judgment on what to do with you. I knew that you were an idiot, Merlin, but a criminal? I may not be my father, but sorcery is still officially illegal, and you must face the ramifications of that, as stated by the decrees of—"

Merlin laughed. He actually dared to laugh! He actually tossed his head back and barked out a laugh.

Arthur had never heard something so bitter come out of the man's mouth. He was so taken aback by the tone that he nearly missed the beginning of Merlin's next tirade.

"Oh, come on, Arthur, tell the truth. You don't care that I'm a sorcerer. You care that I lied. This isn't a matter of the state. If I had come to you and told you that strange things were happening to me and that I thought that I might have magic, do you honestly think that you'd be considering executing me? I never thought that you would have me killed for having magic. That was never the problem. But you don't take well to deception, Arthur, and every day that I couldn't tell you made it worse. Every little lie that I had to tell just made that one big lie all the more damning. Who knows? Maybe I am a coward."

Another silence. Merlin's accusations bounced off of the cobbled walls that blocked their voices from floating through the flames to the bystanders who were no doubt waiting in suspense for the emergence of their king, safe and sound.

The people. "No, Merlin, this is not personal, and maybe it's not strictly a matter of state. Maybe it's not entirely a matter of state. It's about the people. My anger with you right now has nothing to do with our personal relationship, although I certainly have some things that I could say to you about that. I think only of the people right now."

Merlin laughed and rolled his eyes in one irritating motion.

"What a liar you are, Arthur! Like you could possibly be thinking of the people at a time like this! When they're not in mortal danger or in need of a heroic rescue at the hands of their dashing king? You're basically the most self-absorbed person that I have ever known. You think more of the anonymous peasants who live on your fields than you do the lives and well-being of the people that you see every day. Let's just use me as an example, shall we?"

"Call me self-absorbed," Arthur muttered. Merlin carried on with his tirade, as though he hadn't heard what his king had said. Perhaps he hadn't.

"Shall we? You called me a coward whenever you thought that I sought safety in battle. Did you ever think that the only combat training that I have ever had is whatever I managed to pick up on my own to keep from ending up going home black and blue every day after having to participate in your training? That I didn't know how to behave in battle? You take me into dangerous situations without armor, when you're covered head to toe with mail and metal and helmet. You're consistently kind to me only when you're desperately wounded, I'm desperately wounded, we're about to die, or you need advice about something and I'm too frustrated with you to want to give you any help without a bit of flattery. You expect me to give you the exact same pep talk over and over again every time that you have a little chink in your confidence. 'You're a good king, Arthur.' 'You care for your people, Arthur.' 'Your people care for you, Arthur.' 'That's a ridiculous but understandable decision, Arthur.' Don't you ever listen?"

Merlin actually had to gasp for breath after he finished with that rant. Speaking as fast and as continuously as he had, Arthur was surprised that Merlin hadn't passed out. He had a feeling that Merlin had been holding this in for a long time.

He certainly felt like passing out, if only to stop hearing the words that were issuing from Merlin's mouth. As it was, Arthur found it far easier to just react with anger rather than any comprehension. That could come later.

"Okay, fine. Let's table the massive law-breaking for a moment. Why the hell didn't you think that you could tell me any of this? You had to know that I would find out eventually. If you had told me at some point over the past six and a half years, we might not be in this situation!"

"Because, Arthur, for the first five years that we knew each other, your father was king, and he was not a king that was particularly open to new ideas. Especially about magic! I was not going to put you in a position where you had to keep such a huge secret from your father. As much as I disliked him, I knew how you loved him. I didn't want to make you have to deceive him. And yeah, I didn't want to get killed. It wasn't exactly all about you. Every time that something would happen that made it seem like you were opening up to magic, something horrible would happen because of magic and then you would revert back to your path of becoming the little anti-magic fanatic that your father had been trying to raise."

Why did he have such long rants prepared? This was ridiculous.

"Okay, fine. Fine. You couldn't tell me when my father was king because you didn't want to die or, according to you, 'put me in that position.' Okay. But the last time I checked, Merlin, my father is not the king anymore. He hasn't been king for over a year now. I don't agree, but I can see why you might not have wanted to tell me when my father was alive. What about when he died?"

Merlin shrugged and began pacing again. Not necessarily a good sign. The flames beyond the rock wall were beginning to move more and more quickly.

"Well, for one thing, I was the one who killed him, so that kind of put a damper on any of my urges to spill my secrets to you."

"You killed—"

"Yeah. I'm Dragoon. The Great. I tried to save him, Arthur, truly I did."

Yes, Dragoon the Great. Arthur had figured at least that much out for himself. But he hadn't made the connection between Merlin as Dragoon and the death of his father. He'd been too busy stewing in his own inaction. He looked up in a renewed fury, ready to shout himself hoarse and possibly break his no-throwing-rocks rule at Merlin.

Then he saw the look in Merlin's eyes. It was the same as he had seen in Dragoon when his father had breathed his last. Regret, sadness, defeat, and…sympathy. Arthur's fury dissipated as quickly as it had flared.

"But why? You hated my father. Why would you want him to live?"

"That's complicated, Arthur."

"I'll try my best to keep up, Merlin."

Merlin sighed and raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't particularly want him to still be the king, but I didn't want him to die a horrible death. He was your father, as much as I disliked him. Say what you will about my self-servingness when it came to helping you over the years, but I felt nothing but sadness for you when your father lay dying. I remember how I felt when my father lay dying."

Merlin stopped talking, but Arthur saw that he had quite literally bitten his tongue.

"And?"

"And, I knew that if you saw your father, the man who had sought to annihilate all sorcery in his kingdom, be saved by magic, I knew that it would change your mind forever about magic and how maybe it wasn't so evil after all. Uther's mind may not have been changed by being saved by magic, but yours would have. If I had saved your father's life, I could have changed everything…"

"But you didn't."

"I have lied to you almost every day that I have known you, Arthur. But please believe me when I saw that I tried."

Arthur did. He distantly hated himself for it, but he believed him. It made sense, particularly in light of his ongoing discovery of the intelligence that Merlin had been hiding under those lanky limbs and clumsy mannerisms.

Exhausted by Merlin's words and by watching how feverishly he was pacing back and forth, Arthur sat down again on what had once been his impressive throne.

"You've had more than a year, Merlin. Surely you've had an opportunity or two to mention what you've been doing behind my back since we met. You say that you knew that when I found out that you had been lying since…forever, that I would be utterly furious."

"Well done, Merlin," Merlin muttered.

"Can you blame me? But you could have told me. I would have still been mad, yes. Very mad, I'm sure. But telling me would have been so much better for you than leaving me to find out on my own."

"How did you find out, by the way?"

"I saw you when you were polishing my armor with magic last week."

"Happy birthday, Merlin," Merlin muttered.

"Would you stop muttering to yourself, Merlin? You know, this never would have happened if you had just told me that it was your birthday."

Merlin laughed. "You know, Arthur, I knew that I was going to be blamed for this. There were certainly plenty of options for you to choose from. But I did not expect that you would blame this whole ordeal on my not informing you of the day of my birth. Damn my secret keeping!"

"Stop smiling, this isn't funny!" Arthur's tone was sharper than he'd intended, and Merlin's smile dropped immediately.

"Sorry, sire."

Arthur glared. "Tell me why you didn't come clean after I became king."

"Yes, sire!" Merlin nodded respectfully at him, a clean jerking motion that was indescribably aggravating.

"Merlin!"

"Because, Arthur, whenever I have had to tried a serious conversation with you over the past year that either isn't initiated by you or concerning the state of your bedclothes, you dump water on my head or make me stay up all night or threaten to exile me! And don't deny it, I can provide specific examples. Your highness."

Arthur closed his mouth. He had indeed been about to protest.

Seemingly calmed by Arthur's stillness, Merlin stopped pacing, perched himself on what had once been Guinevere's throne, and watched Arthur think.

They were not happy thoughts.

"All those people who have died over the years because of magic…" Arthur was suddenly very sad. "Oh, Merlin. How many lives could you have saved?"

Merlin's voice was still angry, but the fire was gone. Arthur saw him almost deflate, his bravado leaving him tired and resigned. "Do not try to cast the deaths of those people on me, Arthur. The fault for that lies with the offending sorcerers alone."

Arthur accepted this. He could not blame Merlin for the evils of others. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator.

"What are you going to do?"

Merlin laughed, an amused twinkle flickering back to life in his eyes. "I was about to ask you the same question."

"What can I do? Judging from what you've done here," Arthur gestured at the room of rock and fire. "There's not much that I can do to you that you can't either stop or undo."

"Ah." Merlin looked slightly surprised. Arthur couldn't imagine why; there was no way that Merlin could have thought that Arthur didn't at least somewhat understand the scope of his powers after seeing what he had done today.

Merlin sighed. "There is one thing that I will do for you, Arthur. Call it…reparation. Compensation for the things that I have done and what I have said today…well, how I said what I have said today. Not so much what I told you. But whatever you decide for my fate, I'll accept it. You decide to banish me, I'll go. You decide to imprison me for the rest of my life, I won't escape. You decide to have me killed, I'll…die."

Arthur nodded. He was somehow not surprised by Merlin's willingness to comply. It was as though the rules for how he had always assumed that Merlin operated still applied. As though he meant it when he said that his bluntness had not meant to sound as cruel as it had. Surely not…

"But you'll have to be careful," Merlin suddenly added. "Other than banishment, you might have some trouble carrying out my sentence."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "You think that I couldn't do it? I'm the king of Camelot, Merlin. I do have some nerve."

Merlin smiled, still looking exhausted. "I don't doubt you. I doubt that you won't eventually regret whatever you decide, but I don't doubt that you would—and will—do something to me. I just mean that you might have some trouble getting the help that you'll need."

"What do you mean?"

Merlin's smile grew into a laugh. There was still bitterness in it, yes, but there was so much more this time. Pride and love and sorrow and…gratitude. Who knew that Merlin could have so many layers?

"I mean, Arthur, that you have nothing to threaten me with. Whatever you try to do to me, I could undo. Easily. You can't get to me through the people that I love, Arthur, because they are the same people that you love. Whatever you do to me, you do to yourself as well. Which is why I feel sorry for you. And why my agreeing to go along with whatever you decide is no real kindness to you."

"I don't understand."

"I know. Don't be ashamed; you haven't had a giant enigmatic dragon trying to explain it to you with as little clarity as physically possible for the better part of a decade."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just…Arthur, have you ever considered that I have been basically your shadow over the past years?"

Arthur's head jerked up. It was so eerie that Merlin had thought of that.

"I go where you go. We care for the same people, and the same people care for us. Think of how many times the men and women of Camelot have done all in their power to make sure that you aren't hurt, no matter how irrational or unlawful it may have been, because they cared for you more than for what you may have done stupidly to get yourself into trouble in the first place?"

"What on earth are you talking about, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned, doubt down at the return of Arthur's condescending king voice. "How many of your men can you guarantee will be willing and able to carry out whatever punishment you decree for me? How many servants, most of whom know more about this palace than you ever will, won't try to help me in some way? How many of your most trusted advisors will be able to decide which of us is more in the wrong? Will they be sure enough to allow a man to die? This may be a matter of state to you, Arthur, but it won't be to everyone."

"Believe it or not, Merlin, you're not universally beloved. I'm sure that I can round up a guard or twenty who would be more than happy to guard you for the rest of your life."

"I believe it."

"And you said that you wouldn't escape."

"I won't."

"And that's if you're lucky enough to get out of this with your life!"

Merlin laughed again. "I hope you're willing to chop off my head in private, then. There might be a few people to give you trouble if you do it in the courtyard."

Was Merlin actually daring him to try to kill him? This was ridiculous. "I can have you killed quietly."

"True. But how many of your men can you trust to march me to my death? Which of the knights would be willing to tie my hands to the pyre without making a shoddy knot? Who of your private guard will be able to look me in the eye and carry out my sentence?"

"I won't need men, if you keep your word. You'll march yourself to your death, and you won't have to be tied to your post, and no one will have to look you in the eye except me. They won't have to do a damn thing except…watch. And know."

"And so will you."

"Yeah."

"I told you that I would respect whatever decision that you, make Arthur. But think on it carefully. How many men will you lose in the process?"

Their eyes met for a moment, and both men were able to see the truth in what the other was saying. It was like Merlin said, what happened with one tended to happen with the other…

Merlin suddenly stood up; the movement was so swift and jarring that Arthur felt himself doing the same. He realized that he had been tensed up as for battle, and his body was reacting as it always did in a fight—matching his opponent, move for move.

Merlin didn't seem to notice the automatic fighting stance of his king. He became suddenly businesslike as he spoke.

"Alright, Arthur, I think that we've been in here long enough. The people outside are probably suitably terrified that we've killed each other. I'm going to take the rocks down now. Whatever you want the people to hear you say to me, now is the time to say it."

Arthur opened his mouth—to ask a question, to tell him to stop and give him time to think, to say goodbye—but barely had time to draw breath before Merlin's eyes glowed and the rocks tumbled down into themselves, crushing themselves and becoming piles of black dust that outlined the bottoms of the fire walls.

So Arthur looked down deep into himself and said exactly what he had wanted to say in his most eloquent speech that he'd had pre-planned for this confrontation that had happened so suddenly and so unexpectedly.

"The fact remains, Merlin, that you have betrayed me in every possible way. You were perhaps the most trusted of people in my household, and you have not only been lying to me for nearly seven years, but you have been actively engaging in one of the few illegal acts that is still automatically punishable by death. I don't care how many times you've saved my life, Merlin, because you did it by undermining the very laws that I need to survive to enforce. The fact remains that, however altruistic may have been your motives as you claim them, every single time that you have saved my life has been in your own self-interest as a magician in my—"

But Merlin interrupted before Arthur had the chance to proclaim his real crusher of a closing sentence. "No, Arthur, the fact remains that if I'd known that I was going to be stuck as your manservant for the better part of the next decade I might not have bothered to save you at all!" He smiled and shook his head, raising his eyebrows one final time, giving the sort of facial twitch that he was never able to contain whenever he and Arthur had some secret quest planned and were in company. Arthur was never sure if this meant that Merlin was laughing at him or if he was laughing at the others who had no idea what was going about to happen to them.

And Merlin let the fire down.


	9. And Thus Up From Ashes

Arthur had to blink furiously for the first few moments after Merlin extinguished his flames. His eyes had become so accustomed to a burning periphery that the vision of gloomy destruction was overwhelming to his already strained nerves.

He had had a brief moment of panic. Unable to see and hearing nothing but ringing silence echoing through the heavy air around him, Arthur's initial thoughts were that either he was dying and slowly losing his senses one by one or that Merlin had lied and his fire had massacred every person in the room, leaving no one left alive to exclaim at the reappearance of their living king.

But his senses cleared quickly, and he saw that Merlin had not lied. At least, he had not lied about this. None of the people seemed to be dead. There were some wounded, yes, but their injuries all looked as though they had resulted from falling debris rather than from the magical inferno that had overtaken the council chamber. They all seemed healthy enough, all things considered; most were standing. Yet none were speaking. He shot a glance at Merlin; had he cast some sort of silencing spell?

Merlin just looked resigned. He stood very still, hands held in the air at his sides, his expression kept carefully mild, as though he did not want to look threatening.

Arthur suddenly started laughing. This whole situation was ridiculous. His council room had been destroyed, again. By a vengeful sorceress, again. The day had been saved only by an unexplainable miracle of physics, again. And now his skinny servant was standing completely motionless so as to avoid frightening the most intimidating knights in the five kingdoms. Arthur couldn't remember the last time that he had thought of something so funny.

In fact, he was laughing so hard that he could hardly breathe.

Two of his knights came rushing to his aid. He wasn't sure which of them had taken it upon themselves to imagine that he looked like he needed help. His eyes were so blurred with tears that he could only identify their rank by the swirling capes of Pendragon red. "Sire, are you alright—"

Arthur nodded and waved them away as well as he could from his position, nearly doubled over in mirth in the middle of the war zone that had been his council chamber.

For some reason, this did not reassure them. They seemed uncertain as to whether or not they should truly leave his side rather than helping him in some way, choosing instead to hover awkwardly at his sides. Arthur was just attempting to calm down enough to yell at them when they very suddenly moved back and away from him, reaching for weapons as they moved. Arthur could not fathom the reason for their sudden withdrawal, but he was glad for the space.

Then Arthur felt a hand at his shoulder, tugging at his cape to pull him up. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Arthur wheezed. "Merlin hates sewing, and if you tear my cape, he'll probably turn you into a toad and eat you for supper!"

It was Merlin's voice that hissed in his ear. Perhaps he knew what had frightened away the knights. "Arthur, would you please stop laughing? They all think that I've enchanted you, and since they look about one more giggle away from crossbowing me into oblivion, now would be a good time for you to pull yourself together."

That sobered Arthur somewhat. He straightened up, wiped his eyes, and looked around clearly for the first time.

There were indeed at least twenty crossbows aimed at them, and Arthur remembered: he had brought two dozen knights with him into the council room when the time had come to face the sorceress. Had that really only been that morning?

Arthur scanned the room, trying to take a count of the knights and regaining a stronger sense of himself as he attended to his duties. It was then that he saw a body against the wall by the blown doorway, covered with dignity by a red cape. Sir Michael, he recalled. Crushed by falling rocks.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, giving a brief and silent tribute to his fallen comrade. When he reopened them, he looked around for any other cape-draped bodies strewn on the floor. There were none.

Quickly, he turned back to the still-silent crowd and took a count of the red capes that he could see were still standing. It had, in the midst of past ambushes, occurred to him that perhaps red was not the best color of cape to be worn for stealthy trips through bandit-infested forests; however, at that moment, Arthur was just very grateful for the vividness. Even with the copious amounts of dust that covered everyone and everything that remained in the chamber, the Pendragon red was easy to pick out.

Yet he counted only twenty-one. With Sir Michael appearing as the only casualty, there should have been twenty-three knights pointing crossbows at Arthur and Merlin.

Or maybe just Merlin. Arthur gave Merlin a little shove toward the center of the room, and the aims of the crossbows followed him. Much better. The last thing that Arthur needed right then was to be shot by the stray crossbow bolt of an over-tense knight.

But where were those two missing red capes?

Merlin seemed to be thinking along the same lines. After he had stopped to glare at Arthur for shoving him into better crossbow range, he too began scanning the crowd.

It wasn't until there was a shift in the silent assembly that Arthur saw them.

Sirs Leon and Gwaine were sprawled on the ground, eight or ten feet apart from one another, both of their faces contorted in pain.

It was not difficult to see why.

Sir Leon lay, leaning heavily on his right side, clutching his left leg as though it were about to fall off entirely. Arthur saw, to his horror, a long burn that spanned from his ankle to well past the knee. Leon was breathing hard and pale and did not seem to be able to focus his gaze on anything for more than a few seconds.

Sir Gwaine looked, if possible, even worse. Although both of his legs appeared to be fine, he seemed incapable of standing. Arthur could see why; the massive burn on his right arm was the worst that Arthur had ever seen on a living man. Gwaine was strong; he would surely survive. But he had always so defined himself by his sword skills, so proud of his dexterity with a blade, and now his sword arm…

Arthur heard a gasp and looked toward the center of the room, where he saw Merlin turning nearly as pale as Sir Leon, apparently catching sight of the two men only just after Arthur had. Merlin began to stride toward the pair of stricken knights. Immediately, the crossbows of the vigilant and jumpy knights pivoted to follow him.

Merlin paid no heed. Arthur couldn't blame him; blatant display of illegal sorcery aside, no one would dare to fire at Merlin without explicit instruction of the king. And by the way that he walked, meandering to and fro, Merlin seemed to have forgotten about the crossbows. His face ashen, he approached the two ailing knights as directly as he could, winding his way through the debris.

Arthur's first thought was that this was entirely Merlin's fault, that Merlin had said that the fire was safe, that Merlin had wounded and probably crippled these two warriors.

His second thought was of his agonized men, and his first thought flew out of his mind as quickly as it had come. He too headed in their direction, outstripping the winding Merlin by electing to leap over the debris rather than picking his way around it. Arthur was already kneeling between the burn victims before Merlin was within fifteen feet of them.

Gwaine nodded to his king. He did not seem quite able or willing to speak yet, but the relief on his face was evident, and Arthur felt an even stronger wave of relief wash over him. Good, strong Gwaine…

He turned to Leon. His arrival appeared to have roused the glassy-eyed Leon to some sense of awareness of his surroundings. A warmth from deep inside his chest began to spread through his numb body. Leon, his oldest and most steadfast knight, who had seen him through everything, from his adolescence to his kingship, who always seemed to come back against all odds…he would surely recover.

Leon seemed equally glad to see Arthur; he'd even managed a sort of strained smile before he suddenly gasped and skidded himself as far backward on the floor as he could in his wounded state, staring wide-eyed at something over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur's hand was at the hilt of his sword before he'd even completely turned to face whatever it was that had so alarmed Leon.

It was Merlin, who stopped dead in his tracks at Leon's reaction. He raised his arms once more in a gesture of goodwill, his eyes bright with concern and fear.

"Please," he said quietly, his voice so different from the confident tones that had echoed within the fire room. The usual warmth of his voice was replaced by a coldness that Arthur recognizes as dread.

"Please, I just want to help." He did not come any nearer, clearly afraid of upsetting the nearly hyperventilating Leon, whose face was quickly losing with little color that it had managed to maintain with his injury.

Leon shook his head and gasped out, "No."

"Sir Leon—" Merlin was courteous, pleading as much for himself as for Sir Leon.

"No. You did this to me," he responded, the fire in his eyes showing that, were he capable just then, his words would have been bellowed rather than the weak mumbling that he issued.

"I didn't—"

"Arthur, please keep him away. Don't let him help, don't let him…"

"Merlin, you'd better stay back." Arthur had to struggle to keep his tone even with Merlin. He was no happier with him than Leon, for he understood all too well; Leon too had been a model knight, trained and elevated under Uther's reign, in which they were encouraged to pretend that their sparring dummies were practitioners of magic. It was instinctual to back away from someone like Merlin.

But there would be time for yelling at Merlin later. Right now, his injured knights were more important to him than anything else in his kingdom. Gaius was not at the site of the crisis, for whatever reason, and if Merlin had created the flames, then perhaps he knew how to heal what they had burned.

Merlin turned to Arthur with the sort of pleading eyes that would have once won Arthur over immediately, despite protestations to the contrary. "You don't understand, Arthur. I can help!"

Unmoved, the king opened his mouth to order Merlin back when Leon called out again, his voice growing dangerously shrill. "No, no. I don't want your help. Arthur, don't let him…"

Merlin stumbled back a few steps, swaying as though he had been slapped. There was no surprise in his eyes; only a dull sort of sadness, of expectations and fears confirmed. He did not try to approach Leon again.

Then Gwaine raised his good hand, wincing at the effort. "Uh, he can help me. I'm good with that."

Merlin actually laughed, and Gwaine spared a grin. "Come on then, Merlin. Fix me up already!"

Merlin ambled quickly over to Gwaine's side and dropped to his knees. Arthur had never seen such a look of self-deprecating relief on Merlin's face. He half expected Merlin to start crying and immediately backed away to give him space.

Gwaine saw it as well, and his smile became suddenly less rakish and more unabashedly fond. Arthur felt a strange pang in his heart; he wished that he too could still be drawn into that sort of open expression by Merlin's little emotional eccentricities. But those days were gone.

The crowd, still for some reason undispersed, seemed less sentimental about the exchange. Whispers finally broke out.

There seemed to be a sort of unspoken agreement that their voices were not to be used at regular speaking volume. Despite its disarray, the room had the same sort of atmosphere of a ceremony or coronation—that something very important was happening, and there was so much to say about the goings-on, but no one would dare to raise his voice above what could be heard by anyone beyond his neighbor.

Too far away to detect any of the whispers, Arthur comprehended only a sort of buzz in the background. It reminded him of the feeling that he always got just after one of his many wakings-up from unconsciousness via head wound—that he was aware that something was happening, and he knew that he was in pain somewhere, but his senses were still too dulled from the sudden attack to be able to discern anything intelligible.

The only sounds that he could truly identify as legitimate forms of language came from the three men still on the floor, although he could only understand the words of one of them.

Leon wasn't actually speaking. He was making the same sort of sounds that a wolf makes when a crossbow bolt pierces its heart and is expending all of its final energies at getting back up and snapping at its killer, even as it bleeds to death. Arthur knew right then that he would never be able to hunt with Sir Leon again.

Merlin was speaking, although it was in no language that Arthur understood. If anything, it sounded more like song than speech. Therefore, even if he hadn't seen the glowing in Merlin's eyes, he would have known that Merlin was using magic. He had heard Merlin sing on previous occasions, and what he heard now was far too melodic to be anything other than supernatural.

Gwaine too was talking, and it was utter nonsense. Not that Arthur couldn't understand—Gwaine's were the only sounds that actually sounded like words to him. But Gwaine was talking about taverns and girls and fights and how he had once gotten into a fight in a tavern over a girl, or was it a fight with a girl in a tavern, he wasn't sure because he was about four flagons of ale past reliable memory at the time but he knew for sure that it was a hell of a night for a hell of a knight and Arthur was not sure if he was speaking so that he would not have to think of what Merlin was doing to him or so that Merlin would have something to distract him from the fact that everyone could see what he was doing to Gwaine.

Judging from the concern in his eyes when he chanced a glance at the focused Merlin, Gwaine was far less worried about his own wound or how it was being treated than he was about the young man doing the treating.

Gwaine seemed to be raising his voice as he rambled on. Arthur suspected that he had noticed as well that Merlin's hands were beginning to shake as he saw more of Gwaine's wound and the whispering grew louder.

Arthur felt that he could probably guess the identities of most of the whisperers who were objected to what they saw of Merlin and Gwaine. They were the same persons who had been objecting to Merlin's rise to prominence in Arthur's life and Gwaine's status as a knight since both had occurred.

Council members, the older ones, the men who had served on his father's council before him and who Arthur had not yet had the heart or nerve to dismiss is favor of younger blood.

These men had asked many times why Arthur had chosen to knight Gwaine. He was a skilled swordsman, yes, and brave, but just about anyone who had known Gwaine in the years before he had been granted his knighthood would remember little more about him than that he was a good hand in a bad fight and a record holder of some sort in their local alehouse.

Arthur hoped that these council members were watching Gwaine closely at that moment, for this was why Gwaine was a knight. He was in horrible pain, no doubt terrified that his arm would be permanently damaged, and probably reeling from the revelation that Merlin was so much more than he had always claimed to be. But he had seen the look of defeat and humiliation in Merlin's face as the young man had glimpsed the wounds, seen the acceptance in his eyes, seen the horrible sadness when Leon had shrunk away so instinctively in alarm. And Gwaine had chosen to do what he could for the young sorcerer. He had placed another man's emotional pain over his own physical pain without a second thought of danger or fear for his life.

That was why Arthur had made him a knight.

Gwaine was soon quiet. Arthur, who had been doing his best to ignore the whisper and kneeling next to the wheezing Leon as he waiting for Gaius to appear, looked over in alarm at the sudden silence. Merlin was standing and wiping his hands on his already filthy trousers. Gwaine was lying motionless on his back, and Merlin had removed his cloak. He was just getting ready to lay it over the unmoving knight when Arthur grabbed him by the wrist.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

Merlin looked up, startled. "What? Nothing. I fixed him. He's just sleeping now. I had to put his body through a lot to heal him, so he needs his rest. It's a good thing that he's used to hangovers, because he'll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up."

He tried to pull the cloak over Gwaine's inert frame yet again. When he found that Arthur would not release him, he shrugged and let the king take the red fabric from him. Suspicious, Arthur bent low over Gwaine to make sure that he was still breathing. It was when he was checking the rise and fall of the injured man's chest that he caught a glimpse of his mangled right arm.

It was no longer mangled. There was no wound. Although somewhat wrinkled and lacking the tan that covered the rest of his arm, the skin where the awful wound had been was unharmed. Arthur glanced over and saw Leon attempting to pull himself up to peek over. The king gently shifted Gwaine's torso up so that Leon could see the vanished wound before following Merlin's instruction and covering Gwaine with the cloak.

Arthur turned back to look at Merlin, unsure if he was grateful or just mad.

Merlin looked absolutely exhausted. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he looked vaguely pained, as though he had absorbed Gwaine's to remove it from his damaged body. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and go to sleep.

Instead, Merlin turned to Leon and raised his eyebrows, wiping his brow and looking annoyed. "Now do you want my help?"


	10. Decisions And The Day

Arthur wanted Merlin's help.

Arthur wanted Merlin's help, and that was by far the most irritating thing about his current deliberations. Coming to his chambers, of all places, to try to separate himself from Merlin and make a clear decision was not his wisest of decisions.

He couldn't even go to his other most trusted advisors. Not that he had even considered any of the council members. When he needed advice on crop distribution and mortar mixing restriction, they would be at the top of his list. For this sort of thing…

There were about three people on his list. There were plenty of people that he knew that he could trust, but these were three who he knew would keep his secrets, who would give him advice based on what was best for his kingdom rather than what was best for themselves or for him. They were generally unafraid of offending him, although two of the three tended to go out of their way to offend him much less than the other one.

Unfortunately, there was such a great deal of overlap in this short list that he couldn't possibly go to any of them.

Gaius? He counted on Gaius as a sort of guide. He was a trusted connection between the era of his father and between the realistic needs for change in Arthur's reign. He had the wisdom of time and experience and had been at the court of Camelot for longer than Arthur had existed.

He was also Merlin's guardian and surrogate father. He had nearly been burned for sorcery to try to save Merlin from the Witchfinder's unjust accusations…just accusations, Arthur realized. And he had felt so guilty about that!

But Arthur had known Gaius for all of his life, and he had seen the change that had come over the physician after Merlin came to live with him. He became more caring, more interactive, more…alive. Despite the fact that acting as a parent figure to someone like Merlin would be enough to run anyone ragged, Gaius had seemed years younger after taking the boy in. He had loved him immediately. Arthur couldn't ask Gaius for help on deciding how to best punish Merlin, of all people…

Plus, he'd probably known about Merlin's magic for all of these years. There was that.

Guinevere. Other than Merlin, Guinevere knew him better than anyone else in the entire world and, unlike Merlin, Arthur had been aware of it as it happened. Arthur cared for her with all of his heart, his love for her as incredibly strong as it had been incredibly sudden. She had been there forever, then one day, he had seen it, seen her for who she was underneath the curtsies and courtesies, seen that she was more of a woman as a servant than any of the other ladies and princesses that he'd known…truly seen her, on that fateful day when she berated him in Ealdor.

Damn it all. Ealdor. Did Merlin have to have his finger in everything is his life?

It was true. Hell, Merlin had been friends with Guinevere longer than Arthur had. In fact, other than Morgana, Merlin had been her closest friend; they had always believed in each other, encouraged each other, helped each other when no one else would…They had saved each other, physically or mentally or emotionally, so many times, that Arthur couldn't imagine that either knew which one more owed which at this point.

They loved each other. If anything, Guinevere had become more attached to Merlin since her marriage to Arthur. This hadn't bothered Arthur in the slightest; Guinevere may not have had the purest history when it came to relationships with other men, but the idea of her and Merlin together was laughable in just about every conceivable way. In fact, she had even once asked Arthur if he disapproved of her spending such time with Merlin. He had chuckled and informed her that he could never imagine Merlin as "the other man." Guinevere had then giggled herself and said that she felt exactly the same way.

Arthur still wasn't sure what she meant by that. But he hadn't wanted to pursue the subject with her. It reminded him too much of her history.

Her history. Along with the fact that her friendship with Merlin had immediately rendered her as one of the most biased people in Camelot on the issue of his punishment, he could not talk to her about betrayal, and certainly not about betrayal by someone so close to him. He no longer blamed her and had long since forgiven her. But she had betrayed him, breaking his heart so utterly that it had taken time and absence for him to see what she truly meant to him. Yes, he had forgiven her, but every heartbreak leaves a scar.

And wasn't that what Merlin had done? Yes, of course, he loved Merlin. That was not an issue. It wasn't even that he loved Merlin less than Guinevere; he just loved him differently, relying on his council as much as he did Guinevere's, who seemed to encourage this with such amused vehemence that Arthur was almost suspicious of her motives. Of course he loved Merlin.

Which was why his heart was breaking all over again. He had even once said that to Merlin, having been sure that Gaius was a traitor, that to lose him as a friend would break his heart. But he had never actually counted on this happening.

Merlin. He should have just let him drink that poison for him all those years ago and had that be it. But then, there never would have been Hunith and never would have been Ealdor and then there never would have been that moment with Guinevere…

No, he could not consult Guinevere on this matter. She loved Merlin too much, and Arthur's memory was not yet faded enough to actively seek her advice on the matter of treachery. Theirs may have been different in circumstance and execution, but betrayal was betrayal…no matter how very little sense it may have made.

And of course, asking Merlin was out of the question. Although, based on what he had told Arthur about obeying whatever decision that he made, Merlin might have been fairly helpful. He usually was in such matters.

This was ridiculous.

But it was okay. It was just fine. He didn't need anyone. He could make this decision on his own. He was king now; how hard could it be? He would just lay out his options, think them through, and choose the most practical. Simple enough.

He had to do something. There was no choice in the matter. Merlin had publicly used magic. He had publicly used magic in such a very huge way that showed what he could do if he so chose.

What a stupid thing for him to do. In front of the council and the knights and everyone…so now, something had to be done.

He had three options, really: banishment, imprisonment, execution. Just like Merlin had said within the fire room.

Fantastic. He was still listening to Merlin.

Well, when a man is right, he's right, sorcery aside. So, banishment…banishment had basically become Arthur's go-to sentence for betrayals nowadays. It was certainly very punitive to whoever was being banished, and it allowed Arthur to rid himself of the traitor without having to kill him. After all, most of the people who betrayed him were those close to him. It wouldn't be much of a betrayal, really, if it was done by someone that he didn't care about.

Banishment was sounding pretty good. Merlin had a home and a mother that he could return to. He could still be a farmer or pig-wrangler or whatever it was that young men did in Ealdor. Yes, banishment would be the kindest option. Not that the little idiot deserved it…

And it would still be a punishment. After all, his home hadn't truly been Ealdor for a long time now. He belonged in Camelot, among all of the people here who loved and cared for him. And who needed him in order to get up in the morning because he was the only one who had enough nerve to take the somewhat drastic measures that were sometimes required to persuade a person out of bed. For example.

Merlin was a strong man, no matter what Arthur told him on a daily basis. He could bounce back from a banishment. Yes, he'd probably be sulky and resentful and filled with grandiose ideas to get back at Arthur for a while, but surely…

Then the reality hit him. What was to stop Merlin from coming back with his own immortal army, to wreak vengeance upon the nation and king that had banished him? That seemed to be the primary motivator for the other invasions of Camelot in recent years. What if banishing just made everything worse? Could Arthur really take that risk? Hell, what if Merlin came back without an immortal army? All he had to do was set another giant fire wall around the citadel, and Arthur would be helpless. And who knew what else the man was capable of? The fire wall had been bad enough.

Maybe Merlin was right. Maybe Arthur was focusing a bit too much on the fire wall. Probably because that had actually been by far the scariest and most neutralizing part of the day.

Now that he thought about it, it was definitely the fire wall that had frightened him. Not the sorcerer who had conjured it. He was mad at Merlin for setting his council room on fire, yes, but that was it. Furious as he was with Merlin, he wasn't actually afraid of him. The fear had come in those first days after he had learned of the magic, but Merlin's harmlessness and cheerfulness on the days that followed had quelled that fairly quickly. Arthur honestly believed that there was nothing truly to fear from an unprovoked Merlin.

Besides, the bravest men in the five kingdoms were at Arthur's court. The very pride of the nation had been there with him in the council room when Merlin had done his magic. Yes, they had witnessed the same fire wall that Arthur seemed incapable of letting go, but they had also seen the insistent way in which the concerned Merlin had healed Gwaine and, eventually, a relenting and pain-wracked Leon. Surely, Arthur had thought, they would realize that there was nothing truly to fear from Merlin. Hadn't they seen him at court every day? Surely, a man could not be so fundamentally deceitful…Arthur had to imagine that Merlin was still who he had always seemed, just…more. And a man should never fear "more" until he knows what it is.

Yet the fact remained that, when Arthur had asked for volunteers among his mighty knights to guard Merlin while he deliberated, no more than half a dozen had pledged their willingness. And one of them was Gwaine.

Interestingly, it has been Gwaine's volunteering that had encouraged the further three to raise their hands. Gwaine, who was injured and barely capable of holding his sword at readiness without being propped up, was apparently unafraid enough of the sorcerer that he would stand guard.

Or sit guard. When Arthur had last seen them, there had been five stalwart knights standing a firm, if somewhat nervous, guard over two men who were sitting side-by-side on the floor in companionable silence. Merlin had originally been far too jumpy to sit still and started pacing again; however, once he had seen how Gwaine was drooping as he clutched his spear, Merlin had taken a seat on the ground, pointedly leaving plenty of space next to him.

So now they sat together on the floor, passing back and forth a waterskin that had been filled with some kind of potent beverage for Gwaine to keep him conscious. Knowing Gwaine's tolerance, it was probably very potent.

Arthur wasn't sure what was the most endearing about Gwaine's decision: that he was willing to continue his duties as a knight despite grave injury, or that he was so unafraid and so forgiving of the man whose actions had directly led to that injury. Merlin hadn't even been able to complete his apology and acknowledge that he deserved no forgiveness before Gwaine had clapped him on the shoulder, passed him the flask, and said, "My friend, there is nothing to forgive. Besides, I'm the one who decided to stick his arm into a giant wall of fire."

So now they sat together in their companionable silence, stealing occasional glances at one another. Merlin was clearly checking on Gwaine's stamina and Gwaine evidently felt that he needed to keep watch on Merlin's emotional stability, which had become extremely fluctuate after Arthur had ordered him to his corner under guard.

Arthur was fairly sure that the contents of the flask were not helping with any emotional instability. If Gwaine hadn't started setting pacing Merlin after Arthur had left, Merlin was probably going end up weeping, sharing his life story, and trying to hug each of his surly-looking guards.

Fortunately, every time that Merlin's eyes began to grow a little bit too bright and his speech began to become a bit too wobbly, Gwaine would toss up some remark, no doubt wildly inappropriate, that would make them both laugh, if in relief rather than anything else.

If this was an example of imprisonment when it came to isolating Merlin, maybe it wasn't the best of ideas. His knight, who had been grievously injured by the incredibly illegal actions of the most powerful sorcerer who had been observed in Camelot in ages, was comforting that same sorcerer and giving him alcohol. Arthur had left them in the council chambers a few hours ago; by this point, Merlin was probably wearing Gwaine's cape and playing clapping hand games with the guards.

It all depended on circumstance, though. Arthur could carefully select the most magic- and Merlin-hating of his men and assign them as the constant guards of the sorcerer's cell. Merlin could certainly break out with ease, if his earlier display of powers was indicative of his overall skills (and if his boasts within the fire room were to be believed). But he had also given his word that he would respect whatever Arthur decided. Arthur had to believe that, if he chose to imprison Merlin in a dingy cell for the rest of his natural life, Merlin would do as ordered. He may have been a mouthy servant for most of the time, but Merlin always deferred to Arthur in the most critical of situations. After all, Arthur was king now.

Imprisonment could be done, yes. But was it too kind? Merlin had told Arthur that he'd grown up sleeping on the floor anyway. What Arthur needed to do was to stop thinking of Merlin as his mouthy but loyal servant. He had to remember that Merlin was a traitor, that his crimes were against state rather than against master this time. He couldn't very well order him to scrub all of his boots and then just be done with it. Two of his knights had been gravely injured. The fact that they had been healed almost immediately thereafter did not excuse the fact that Merlin had set a fire that could not be extinguished through natural means, and that fire could have killed all of his men, had they decided to attempt a rescue mission. Just because it hadn't gone as horribly wrong as it could have didn't mean that Arthur could let Merlin off as he always had in the past. He just…couldn't.

After all, Arthur was king now.

Maybe imprisonment just wouldn't be enough.

Which left execution.

Merlin had practically dared him to try it, back when they were alone in the room of rock and fire, which was incredibly foolish of him. From the day that they had met, whenever Merlin had insinuated that there was something that Arthur was physically incapable of doing or having done, Arthur would instantly set off to do exactly that and prove Merlin wrong. So if Arthur decided to do it, really truly decided, then he would…do it. And Merlin had said that he wouldn't escape…did Merlin want to die?

Maybe that would be his final revenge, getting Arthur to kill him. Merlin had said that he expected Arthur to regret whatever punishment he decided on, and while Arthur didn't exactly feel as though he would be bedstricken with grief if deprived in some manner of his generally incompetent servant, he was willing to concede that he would perhaps not always be particularly jubilant if he had Merlin killed. He had never liked attending executions, and being burnt to death as a sorcerer just seemed like such a horrible way to die…

Arthur could always just have him beheaded. He imagined that he would regret that less. And Merlin had always said that showing generosity was a sign of strength. If anything, beheading Merlin would be a sign of respect.

Perhaps he was reaching a bit with that.

Maybe that was his problem—he was reduced to reaching. He was tired and confused and overwhelmed and he was king, damn it, so who said that he had to decide this right now? No one, that's who. Banishment, permanent imprisonment, execution…well, those could be done just as effectively tomorrow as today, he thought. Or next week. After all, decisions such as this should be made with careful consideration. Later, when he was thinking clearly and well-rested and level-headed…then he would make his choice. There's no day like tomorrow!

Being king was pretty great sometimes.

Having made his decision to embrace his indecision, Arthur sighed. Choice or no choice, he couldn't leave Merlin sitting on the floor of a war zone with half a dozen miserable knights all night. Swinging out of his chambers and pointedly ignoring the men who had been posted in his corridor, Arthur began his slow trudge back to the council chambers, destroyed and deserted except for Merlin and the guards.

The guards, whose vigilance seemed to have greatly waned since Arthur had last seen them. Their fear of Merlin seemed to have significantly shrunk if they were so able to lean about, looking bored and chatting amongst themselves. This was hardly an appropriate way to guard a prisoner of state, no matter who he should be or frightening he may seem. Surprised at this reduction in sternness, Arthur resolved to have a serious talk with them once they had marched Merlin down to his fate.

Then Arthur saw why.

Merlin was passed clean out on the floor, leaning heavily on the still wide-awake Gwaine, who seemed quite amused by the whole state of things. When he saw Arthur, he put his finger to his lips and pseudo-whispered across the room, "Shhh. Best be quiet, sire. He's trying to sleep."

Thusly alerted to the presence of their king, the other five knights immediately jumped up to attention again. Arthur rolled his eyes. Pride of the nation indeed.

With a brief look of concern at the surprisingly sereneexpression on his injured man's face, he turned to Sir Patrick; then, instinctively, as he did around any sleeping person, Arthur whispered, nodding toward the pair of men on the floor. "How is he?"

"Well, he seemed to be having an emotional time of things at first, my lord. We had hoped that some of the alcohol would settle him down, but if anything, it just made him much more affectionate. But then he passed out and we all—"

Arthur, already annoyed with just about everything, swatted Sir Patrick over the back of the head, hurting his palm rather seriously on the knight's helmet. Fortunately, he was already grimacing with frustration, so Patrick didn't seem to notice.

"Not Merlin, you idiot. How's Gwaine? You know, your injured fellow knight who bravely tried to rescue his king from being held hostage by the traitorous criminal that you're meant to be guarding?"

Sir Patrick blushed. "Oh. He's fine."

Gwaine laughed. "I've never felt more loved. Have you ever spent any time with a drunk Merlin? He seems to enjoy a good hug."

Arthur just glared all the harder. This was not the time for love. This was the time for anger and punishment and shouting and fists of fury and it was always so difficult to be mad at Merlin when he was asleep! Why did he always have to look so young and innocent and endearing and this was turning into the most mind-boggling day that Arthur had ever experienced.

Gwaine grinned again. He seemed to know what Arthur was thinking.

Arthur shook his head. His did not want to take his temper out on Gwaine. His wound may have been gone, but he was still very weak. Arthur was actually surprised that he was still awake. With drooping eyelids and his arm still propping up the sleeping Merlin, Arthur had the distinct impression that Gwaine was far more intent on protecting Merlin than he was on guarding him.

But no matter. Arthur gestured Sir Patrick to come closer so that the knight could be aware of how much shorter he was than his king. Intimidation tended to get orders followed more exactly.

"Sir Patrick, you are to take this prisoner down to the dungeons. Put him in the cell farthest from the entrance, lock the door, fetch some extra chains from the master at arms and lock those around the bars, and do not at any point leave him alone. He's a…dangerous man, and we must be vigilant in our guarding of him, lest he overpower and attack us."

Gwaine snorted.

Arthur continued as though he hadn't noticed. "No one is to speak with him or pass him anything through his bars. You will bind his arms and feet together for his trip down to the dungeons. You may take the leg bindings off before you lock him in, but leave his hands bound together. In front of him. He has kind of a bad shoulder and we don't want to aggravate it too much…because if he's mad then he might struggle!"

Gwaine snorted again.

Arthur gestured regally at Sir Patrick and the other four knights. "Take him away now. I will be sending more knights down to assist you in maintaining and expanding the guard. Do not take your eyes off of him for one moment. He may not look like much, but he's surprisingly fast. And also, a sorcerer."

"But sire…" Patrick looked as though he very much wanted to voice some objection, but was clearly still put off by Arthur's height. And possibly also by the murderous expression on his face.

"What?"

"Sire, he's still…unconscious. Do we really have to chain him up? We'll have to drag him down as it is."

"Yes!" Arthur snapped. "Is everyone determined to question my directions today? Yes! I said to chain him for his journey, and you will chain him for his journey. He is a prisoner, and he should receive no more pity or special treatment than any other traitor of Camelot. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sire," came the mutterings of the five knights. They bent to begin to bind together Merlin's limbs, all of their efforts required as they attempted to maneuver Merlin's bony body into the manacles.

Therefore, there was none but Gwaine who saw Arthur's face soften as he absorbed all that Sir Patrick had said.

As the knights finished chaining Merlin, Arthur called after them. "And Sir Patrick? Do not drag him all the way to the dungeons."

"Sire?"

"You will not drag him to the dungeons. He will be carried."

Arthur spoke softly and turned to help the quickly fading Gwaine to a seat, examining the well-healed arm so that he would not have to watch his men tossing about a limp Merlin as they prepared to carry him down to the dark dungeons for an indefinite stay, and trying with all of his might to ignore the fact that every decision that he so willingly avoided making was a decision effectively made.

He wondered vaguely why Merlin couldn't cast a spell to erase all of their memories, why it felt like the events of that morning had occurred weeks ago, and just why he had such a distinct feeling that all that had happened that day was not all that it seemed.


	11. As Directed By The Good Physician

By the end of the second full day without Merlin as his shadow, Arthur was realizing why he had always been so willing to go off on heroic life-saving quests whenever Merlin was ill or dying from some supernatural ailment. The risk for Arthur was always very real, and the life of a crown prince or king is hardly one to be gambled about with little forethought. But at least if he was off questing for some noble purpose, he wouldn't have had to deal with a different manservant every time that Merlin got a stomachache from eating too quickly or drinking poison or something else that seemed to happen surprisingly often.

The boy knocked at his door. Arthur wasn't sure what his name was; he didn't really care. He hadn't asked, and the boy hadn't taken it upon himself to tell him. So Arthur had a feeling that he wouldn't be in the position for very long.

Arthur yelled for him to enter. It was amazing how difficult it was for him to become reacquainted with the ways of a respectful servant. Knocking before entering, bowing upon exiting, speaking when spoken to…it was as though he had woken up and was suddenly Prince Arthur once more, in the days during which there was no backtalk or insolence or disagreement within his chambers. It was as though Merlin had never been there; his room certainly showed none of Merlin's trademarks. There weren't any articles of clothing or bits of armor sticking out from behind pieces of furniture, there were no mysterious locks of hair under his pillows, he did not have to be suspicious of any of his meals…it was very proper, very polite, and very very lonely.

The boy shuffled in, already sunken into his unnecessarily low bow. Arthur raised his eyebrows; it was a very impractical way of entering a room. He was so distracted by imagining the many ways that a situation could go immediately wrong by entering a room sideways while staring at the floor that he almost didn't register when the boy began to speak, his quavering voice barely able to brave its way across the room to the grouchy king.

From what Arthur could discern from the boy's mumblings, he had come to announce the arrival of someone or other. His lip had begun to quiver noticeably by the time that he reached the end of his sentence, and Arthur felt too sorry for the frightened boy to order him to repeat it. He'd find out soon enough.

It was Gaius.

Arthur felt himself stand up immediately, moving to pull a chair out for the older man. He usually did not so obviously try to accommodate him, to allow him the dignity of not requiring the aid of a younger man. But Gaius seemed to have aged a decade since the last time that Arthur had seen him.

Arthur couldn't help but feel a twinge or two of guilt about that. He had been pointedly avoiding Gaius ever since the incident with Merlin that had led to the young man's seclusion in the dungeons. He couldn't fathom going to face him, to tell him what he had done to his ward, his assistant, his surrogate son…so Arthur had taken the coward's route and sent Sir Percival to inform the physician. If anyone could break difficult news without trying to compensate with overspeechifying, it was Sir Percival.

Arthur was even able to keep busy enough that it would have been difficult to go to see Gaius at a decent hour if he had genuinely been trying to. As it was, he managed to make it through two days guilt-free without seeing Gaius. After all, could the king of Camelot really be expected to go chasing after physicians who harbor criminals when his castle was falling apart and his staff either fleeing before his feet or cold-shouldering him? He led a busy life.

But if he had seen Gaius, seen the way that the loss of Merlin was affecting him…

He gestured for Gaius to sit down, and it occurred to him for the first time that perhaps Merlin's absence as an active presence in Gaius' chambers was affecting the physician in more ways than emotional.

"Gaius, are you all right? You do not look well."

"I have been better, sire." Arthur detected and accepted the hint of reproach in Gaius' voice. It hadn't been among his most sensitive of questions.

"Of course. I'm sure that you've been very busy lately, what…with...the, uh, collapse in the council room…and everything?" Arthur heard himself falter, the inadequacy in his own words weighting them down until they were all but inaudibly stilted and weak. All for the best, really, if Gaius couldn't hear that pathetic excuse for a sentence.

"There is always plenty for a physician to do in a place like this, my lord."

Arthur hated it when Gaius called him that. The man was three times his own age; if one must be calling the other "lord," it did not seem proper for it to be from Gaius to Arthur.

But he could not bring it upon himself to be too annoyed with Gaius just then; the man looked…shrunken.

"Gaius, you are unwell. Let me assign you a servant, someone to gather your herbs and make your deliveries for you. You shouldn't have to—"

Gaius held up a hand, and Arthur automatically stopped speaking. When they were alone, it was so simple for them to revert back to their roles as adult and child as had dominated Arthur's youth.

"Please, sire, I did not come to discuss my work at this time. I would just very much like to see my boy, if it would not be too much trouble."

And Arthur had thought that his heart could break no more.

"Of course, Gaius. Of course you may see him. Have you been down…?"

"No, sire. I had been planning on doing so, but I received word that he was being refused all visitors. From the various reports, it did not sound as though it mattered what station a person held. All were kept from seeing him, and my knees are not what they used to be for constant trips to and from the dungeons."

Received word? Various reports? Who the hell had been trying to visit Merlin? And spreading word of it?

That wasn't the point.

"It is true, Gaius, that he is not currently permitted visitors."

"I have heard that you were very firm on the matter." There was that hint of reproach again.

"I was. I am. Gaius, I'm sorry, but Merlin is a criminal. He must be locked up for his crimes and for the safety of the people of Camelot." Arthur sounded as though he was grasping for reasons, and he cursed his own voice for it.

Gaius pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, not as though he agreed with Arthur's claim as to the cause of Merlin's seclusion, but as though he was hearing exactly what he had expected to hear. It was so very similar to Merlin's expression as Leon was refusing to be approached by him.

Arthur wasn't sure if this made him extremely mad or extremely sad. He settled for silent disapproval as he waited for Gaius to respond.

"I am quite familiar with Camelot's laws regarding magic, Arthur. I have seen them enforced more times than you could possibly know."

Arthur nodded, looking down at his shoes, feeling strangely ashamed, although he could not see why he should. He could not help the violence that had preceded him.

Gaius continued. "I am not here to make any pleas for Merlin's life or to try to explain away what happened when you two last spoke in the council chamber. I only ask if I might please see him."

"Of course you shall see him." Gaius bowed, hearing a hint of finality in Arthur's tone, and began to slowly walk away. He was nearly to the door to Arthur's chambers when the king suddenly called out after him.

"Gaius, wait! Let me write you a note, giving permission. I do not mean to impugn your reputation, but I fear that the guards may not believe you if you can give nothing but your word that you are to be allowed to see him. They have had…their instructions on the matter are very clear. They know my hand, they'll know that this is no forgery. You know what, I'll give it the royal seal as well. If you could just pass me that candle there—thank you, Gaius—I'll seal it right up for you now." Arthur could hear himself rambling. He heard it and, had he been babbling in front of anyone other than Gaius, who had been treating him for all manner of embarrassing ailments since his infancy, he would have been mortified. As it was, he wasn't feeling his most kingly.

Unfortunately, the more that he was aware of his rambling just kept making it all the worse. "There. They shouldn't give you any trouble now. If they do, let me know, and I'll have words with them. Send one of them, you shouldn't have to walk back and forth twice…In fact, if you would come to see me after you speak with him, I'd really appreciate it. I haven't really had reliable word, because no one really goes near him…I guess my orders are followed pretty closely, which is good for, you know, Camelot, you could say…anyway, I would go down with you myself to vouch for you, of course, but I'm terribly busy today, in fact, you caught me right in the middle of—"

Arthur gestured vaguely back at the desk where he had been slumped prior to Gaius' entrance. There was nothing but a goblet of water and a penknife with which he had been carving his name and title into the wood.

Ah, a day in the terribly busy life of a king.

Realizing that there was no possible way to end that sentence without humiliating himself further, Arthur settled with not ending it at all and handed Gaius the note that would give permission for the physician to meet with his ward, the wax of the royal seal still warm to the touch.

And purple. One of Guinevere's candles must have gotten slipped into his chambers by the new manservant who clearly didn't know better…Arthur would let it slide, this time, knowing that his embargo on lavender candles was one of his more obscure idiosyncrasies.

Maybe he should also allow his new manservant to visit with Merlin. The boy seemed somewhat terrified—somewhat extra terrified whenever his predecessor's name was mentioned or alluded to, but he probably could benefit from an interview or two with Merlin. While a servant such a George was the far superior teacher when it came to cleaning or etiquette, Merlin was widely recognized as the authority on all things Arthur.

The young manservant knocked again and Arthur sighed before calling for him to enter. This was going to get very old.

He surveyed the boy, ignoring the blush that spread over his face as he felt the eyes of the king. Judging by the way that he quaked with the knowledge that Arthur was looking in his general direction, Arthur figured that there was no way that he would be able to go near Merlin and speak with him without assuming that the sorcerer was going to jinx him into Mercia or turn him into a muskrat or some other sort of rubbish. It wouldn't have been the most bizarre of the rumors of the peculiarities of Merlin's powers.

Arthur watched as the manservant walked out again, bowing and nearly dropping Arthur's retrieved bed linens in the process. He had clearly taken note of Arthur's handiwork on the table, but the concept of commenting on the king's unusual method of passing the morning was certainly unlikely to enter the mind of the young man.

Arthur sighed again and took up his penknife once more. "Pendragon" wasn't going to carve itself into his desk.

By the time that Gaius returned to Arthur's chambers, the king was just completing a flourish on the t at the end of "Mighty King of Camelot." It was a fine piece of work, if Arthur could say so himself.

Gaius seemed less struck by the vision, but Arthur assumed that he was just distracted by his meeting with Merlin. He supposed that that was slightly understandable. Although it was a very ornate flourish…Arthur shifted in his seat with as much subtlety as he possessed and beckoned to Gaius so that he might have a clearer access to viewing the artistry.

But wait. Why was Gaius even here? Arthur figured that a talk that involved anything that Merlin had to say about the king just then probably wouldn't make anyone feel like they needed a friendly chat with Arthur. He could understand if Gaius had come back to see his carving, but Gaius hadn't really seemed to take note of its beginnings when he had been in earlier. He had been somewhat distracted. Well, he was a man of science, not art.

He nodded at Arthur respectfully, as was his habit. "Sire."

Arthur nodded back. "Gaius."

There was a pause in which each looked at each other. Arthur felt himself start to bristle under the shrewd gaze of the old physician. Surely it was up to Gaius to explain his presence! Arthur wasn't very well going to begin a conversation when he didn't know the intended topic.

"So, Gaius. I trust that the guards allowed you through?"

"Indeed they did, sire."

"Did you have any trouble to report?"

"None at all."

"Then…I do not mean to sound rude, Gaius, but I have to wonder why you have come back. Surely you have more on your mind now than small talk with me."

"I do indeed, Arthur, but you asked me to come back to see you after my meeting with my ward."

Arthur didn't remember this, but he did not doubt the physician's word. No doubt Arthur had slipped it in somewhere amongst his ramblings.

"Ah…so I did. Thank you for remembering! I just wanted to check to see if you…were pleased with your visit."

Yes, that certainly sounded as though he had had a plan for this conversation.

"I was, very much. Thank you, Arthur. It did me a world of good to speak to him, to see with my own eyes is the is alright for now." Arthur could have sworn that he heard emphasis on for now. Filing that thought away for later, Arthur attempted to continue their friendly banter.

"You were not very long."

"After our mutual relief at finally being permitted to see each other, we did not have much to discuss. Merlin is…not willing to bend on a few matters of great importance, and I believe that he did not want to get me into any trouble with the guards by keeping me for too long."

Well, that was incredibly sad and touching. Damn Merlin…

Arthur cleared his throat and attempted to look stern and kingly. "Did he try to pass you anything?"

"No, my lord. I believe that the guards could have been able to see and report it to you if he had done so, but again, I do not believe that he would risk endangering my safety in the castle. And honestly, Arthur, what on earth do you think that he could have in there to pass out? Have you seen his the state of his cell?"

Arthur chose to ignore the rebuke implied in Gaius' final sentences. Petulance was the far more appealing option, and he was certainly not going to admit that he hadn't gone within two corridors of the dungeons since Merlin had taken up residence within. Petulance it was!

"Oh, well, then does he send messages to all of his little friends in the castle?"

Gaius raised an eyebrow, ever-dignified. "No, sire. He sends no messages. But he has requested that I make a query on his behalf."

Arthur raised his own eyebrows in an attempt to mirror the gravity of the man facing him. "A query? Of whom?"

Gaius nodded toward the king. "Of you, sire."

Arthur bristled even more. "Is that so? Well, go on then, Gaius! We wouldn't want to disappoint him. What is this query of his?"

"It is a simple matter, sire, but somewhat difficult to phrase delicately." Gaius seemed to be debating with himself as to whether he should phrase it as Merlin had or as he would when addressing the king. "He wonders…"

Arthur rolled his eyes, nearly dizzying himself with the weight of his own forced bravado. "Go on, Gaius! Don't worry, I'm not going to have you executed for repeating something that he said."

Gaius winced slightly at Arthur's mentioning of execution, but he nodded at the king's demand. "It just that he'd like to know if you've decided yet what you're going to do with him."

Damn Merlin. He had been having a perfectly functional day, and then he had to go and ruin it by throwing his indecision into Arthur's face. It was bad enough that people throughout the town were beginning to whisper about Arthur's lack of a ruling over Merlin's fate, but to hear it voiced aloud by the man himself! How brazen and offensive!

And by proxy!

Arthur squared his shoulders and glared, raising his voice so that he could hear it clearly over the sudden and very irritating ringing in his ears. "He's finally worried, then? Good. Good! The least that he can do is show a healthy fear befitting a man in his state. That proves that he's at least still sane. Did he seem like he was getting nervous, then?"

This was it, this was when he would feel it again, when he would start to feel as truly powerful and deserving and legitimate as a king as he had before, when his life would be flipped right side up again, when the king's world would cease to revolve around the servant and each would take their rightful places in power and status. By proxy indeed! Arthur began to swell in pleasure, already formulating his gracious response to Gaius' admission of Merlin's increasing edginess.

But then Gaius simply shook his head, a very slight and very respectful movement back and forth. "No, sire. I got the distinct impression that he was merely rather bored."

And Arthur had nothing to say.


	12. A Prelude To Seven

.

.

It took Arthur three visits to listen to Merlin;

on the fourth, he understood;

on the fifth, he made his choice;

on the sixth, he gave his word;

and by the seventh, Merlin was gone.

It took a week for Merlin's world to end,

but he stayed in jail a month.

.

.

.


	13. Keeping Up With Correspondence

.

I/VII

.

Arthur had planned on waiting a week.

A week had seemed fair; surely Merlin, wallowing down in the dungeons, deserved to suffer in dread and suspense just as Arthur had during that first week after he had seen Merlin's magic. Merlin deserved such a week as Arthur had to endure and, since Arthur did not have any illegal and earth-shattering secrets to spring unexpectedly on Merlin, he'd just decided to leave him alone and unvisited for the same amount of time. He prided himself on being a fair and just king; a week of restlessness and discomfort and uncertainty made a certain sense, and his fondness for balance settled the matter. Arthur would wait a week.

Then he had received word that Merlin wanted to see him.

It wasn't so much that Merlin was asking for him that made Arthur go storming down to the dungeons. He was much more inclined to do whatever was the opposite of Merlin wanted those days. No, it was the fact that he had been able to send word.

Besides, Arthur was the king. He was the one who got to send for others, not some mouthy little lawbreaker currently lazing about in Arthur's smallest cell.

This had been expertly masterminded. The communication had come to him via letter, delivered with his meal by his replacement manservant. It was in a hand that Arthur did not recognize, and although his first suspicion was that it had come from the messenger, he soon discovered that the boy could not read. He'd gotten so used to a literate manservant that he'd forgotten how uncommon it was. There should have been no surprise that the new manservant had never had the chance to learn to read.

Someone had known that, someone kind. He or she had been determined to pass the message to Arthur, and so chose to send it through the hands of a person who could simply not be responsible for its content. This was a person who knew how to cover tracks.

The boy couldn't even describe to him what the person had looked like. From what Arthur could discern from his stammers, the note had just been on top of the pile of documents that he had brought to the king with his lunch, just as happened every day by whosoever was serving him.

The note was sealed with the wax imprint of a bird. As far as he knew, none of his knights or noblemen came from a household with a crest bearing any sort of bird, and he liked to think that none of his knights were foolish enough to seal a secret note with his family emblem.

The note was simple enough. "To King Arthur, Lord and Gracious Master of Camelot and All of Her Peoples: Your Presence Is Hereby Humbly Requested For An Audience In The Dungeons At Your Earliest Convenience."

And thusly the "waiting a week" plan flew right out of window.

Arthur paused. Deciding on how to deal with this would take careful planning and forethought, deliberation of the utmost precision…Arthur nodded to himself, confident. He was the wise and rightful king of Camelot, as decreed by forefathers and fate. He was born knowing how to plan carefully and think ahead.

What to do…

The guards on duty in the dungeon that day were so surprised when King Arthur barged in unannounced, glowering his way down the corridor to the farthest and dingiest cell, that they barely had time to snap to attention. Not that Arthur particularly had eyes for any of his men at that moment.

He stomped over to the cell door and glared at the prisoner who sat on the floor within, staring forlornly up at the grate that covered the tiny window at the top of his room. "How the hell do you explain this, Merlin?"

Merlin just threw him an insolent glance and did not stand up. "Hello to you too, Arthur. I'm great, thanks for asking, loving my new chambers. And yourself?"

Arthur wasn't in the mood for this. He was starting to feel as though he had no control over anything in his kingdom. Even the letter seemed to have been phrased to insult him!

Arthur thrust the note through the bars. Merlin had to stand and come closer to take it from him. He read it swiftly, a look of vague surprise crossing his features.

Arthur wasn't fooled. Once a liar, always a liar. Surprise was not the same as unfamiliarity. "How do you explain this?"

Merlin shrugged and leaned against the bars, bravely within reach of his fuming king. His face was pulled carefully neutral again. "I couldn't say. Are you sure that it refers to me? It doesn't mention a name."

"Yes, Merlin, I'm sure!"

Not looking at Arthur, Merlin folded the note back up into its original shape curiously and examined the broken wax seal.

"What was on the seal?" As if that was the point of the matter.

"It was a bird! And you can rest assured that I have my best genealogists looking into families with that seal on its crest. It's only a matter of time before—"

Merlin laughed. "Did you like that, the bird? At first, I thought that it would be a bit much, but now that I see it, it's actually pretty funny."

"I don't understand."

Merlin looked completely unsurprised at Arthur's lack of comprehension, and Arthur felt faintly offended. "It's a bird, Arthur. I imagine that this was the closest that anyone could find…I mean, they don't make too many sealing rings with specifically merlins on them, do they? That was the original suggestion, the merlin. Ha! How dramatic is this? It feels like a real conspiracy, doesn't it? Do you recognize the handwriting? I don't." Merlin grinned through the bars at Arthur, as he had done so many times before, when they were sharing some unlikely but mutual joke between them. Like some very entertaining, if wholly unexpected, turn of events had befallen them, and they couldn't help but share the humor with each other.

Arthur wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. Could he trust no one in his own castle? Did no one mean what they said, what they pledged, what they swore anymore? Was there really so little loyalty to him amongst his people? Breathing hard, he looked into Merlin's laughing face and thought that this was by far the cruelest thing that the man could have ever done to him.

Merlin seemed to have noticed that something was angrier than usual Arthur's face, and he stopped laughing, looking almost…concerned. His voice leveled off. "Really, Arthur, I don't. I made a random joke the other day about sending you a note like this and sealing it with the sign of a merlin, but I didn't think that anything would come of it. Although I did find it very funny at the time."

"Is that so."

"Yeah," Merlin sighed, then voiced the very thought that had been racing through Arthur's head several times every day for the past week and a half. "This is getting ridiculous."

Arthur nodded sharply. "Yes, Merlin. I'm glad that this is finally occurring to you. Now, you said that you would obey whatever I decided you would do."

"In the fire room?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. Would he never stop bringing that up? "Yes, Merlin, in the fire room. You need to tell me who you told that joke to."

Merlin shook his head. "I said that I would obey whatever fate that you decided for me. I never said that I'm not still going to…withhold certain information. I'm sorry, Arthur, but you won't be getting every little thing that you ask of me. Especially when it affects the safety of others. I will not allow others to suffer because of a promise that I made to you."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue back, to shout that semantics were hardly the point of his question; seeing this, Merlin hastily continued before Arthur could start yelling. "Besides, I don't know who did this. Really, I don't. I didn't say it to anyone in particular. Okay, yes, so I may have shouted this more or less word for word at one point because I may have been somewhat frustrated and it may have been during shift change so that the door to the dungeons was open and my voice could have…carried out into the hall, where there may or may not have been people lingering to catch a glimpse of me. If I'm remembering correctly. I mean, it did happen all of…yesterday…ago. But really, who knows?"

Arthur's glare intensified. How was it that even now, when he knew the biggest secret that Merlin had been working to hide over the last six and a half years, that he still could not tell what he meant when he said things like this? Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin was implying that he had people on his side, loitering in the corridor to wait for signs from him, or if he meant that morbidly curious members of the castle staff stopped to try to peek in at the sorcerer like some sort of mad trapped animal, or if he really didn't have any clue as to what the hell was going on outside of his dungeons.

Arthur wished, not for the first time, that he knew more about magic. He would have given just about anything to be able to understand how he should be going about being afraid of what Merlin could do. As it was, he just seemed like normal old smart-mouthed and cheeky man that Arthur had always known, if somewhat more sharp-tongued and…intelligent. But when Merlin wasn't doing magic, it was so difficult to remember that he wasn't the man who had always been so loyal to Arthur.

When he thought about it, it was almost as though Merlin had accidentally locked himself into the dungeon and was just waiting for Arthur to come to let him out, on the verbal offensive only as part of a pre-emptiveattack, because he knew that he was going to get it from an amused king who dangled the keys. In fact, that did not seem all that unrealistic, if things were still as they had been. If they were still as there were.

Oh, if only he could get everything into its proper place, categorize things as they were meant to be categorized…good with good and bad with bad and kings on thrones and sorcerers in cells. That was how things were meant to be, as he had been taught from infancy by his father. That was how Camelot was meant to run.

Merlin really was ruining everything!

Not that Merlin needed to know that. As far as Merlin could know, Arthur wasn't sparing him a moment's thought when he wasn't being slipped anonymous notes amongst his midday meals. "So, were you really just randomly yelling things into the hallway like the child that you are, Merlin, or did you really have something of great importance that I absolutely needed to know?"

"I don't have any news that will affect the state of the nation, no, if that's what you're asking. But—no, please don't leave yet, Arthur! There are some things that you really need to understand before you announce to the whole of the kingdom what you're going to do."

Arthur ignored him and continued the steady stride down the corridor to the exit of the dungeons that he had begun in the middle of Merlin's petition, all of the humor drained from his voice as he had spoken. The earnestness of his tone almost made Arthur want to stop, but his guards were watching. It was only instinctively that he slowed his pace for the final few steps to the door, and it was only just that he was able to hear Merlin's final call out of his dirty cell.

"Arthur, please, for both of our sakes, you need to understand. You just have no idea of how much is happening right now. Arthur! You…you really need to understand."

He sounded so like himself, so like the man that Arthur had known, that for a single moment, Arthur had to wonder if perhaps he should not be defining the man by the automatic evils of sorcery and rather considering the kind of sorcery that would be defined by a man so lacking in evil like Merlin.

But only for a single moment. After all, he was king. There were things for him to do, documents to sign, shrubbery competitions to judge, multi-course dinners to eat. There were things to do.

So Arthur left, and the guards slammed the door shut with unnecessary force behind him. As he swept around the corner away from the dungeons, Arthur wondered if they did that deliberately to Merlin, as though to emphasize just how much Arthur did not want to speak to him.

It made him very sad.

And curious.


	14. In Which Epiphanies Abound

II / VII

.

As it turned out, going to see Merlin to confront him about the note had not been one of Arthur's better ideas.

If he was to be honest, he was more mad at himself than he was at Merlin. After all, if Arthur had had the good sense to not go down to the dungeons in the first place, there would be nothing for him to be stewing about. He had already made it two and a half days; all that he really needed to do was take a few deep breaths, introduce the new manservant to the joys of training with the knights, and then go to have an aloof and dignified conversation with Merlin at the end of the week, as he had planned.

But no, he just had to go barging down to the dungeons the minute that he got word of Merlin.

Of course, Merlin's sorcery and subsequent confinement to the dungeons was a major point of discussion throughout the entire town. Unfortunately for Arthur, kings aren't usually privy to the most tantalizing of gossip until it is either proved or disproved and even then, not until days later. The only reason that he could even be sure that Merlin was a hot topic for debate was because it seemed that he could always hear Merlin's name mentioned in the whispers that tended to cease as soon as Arthur entered a room.

And he had told his guards when they first came to report of Merlin's successful containment that he never wanted to hear news of the sorcerer ever again. It would seem that he'd said it with such vehemence that his men did not think it wise to question him on the matter. All that he'd had to do was give his orders in a particularly stern and eye-bulging sort of manner, and apparently he was free to go about his daily business, pretending that he didn't care at all with such fervency that he would hopefully soon forget that he was pretending. After all, if his citizens and his men were too afraid to give him any information about Merlin, if Arthur never had any news about his life in the dungeons, then everything would…work itself out without Arthur having to do much of anything.

Merlin was turning him into a coward.

That damn note. It was ruining all of his plans. When he caught hold of whoever had sent it, he would do…something. He would do the hell out of something!

But he was beginning to think that he would never find out. It wasn't that he was doubting his own investigatory skills; it was more that he was becoming increasingly aware that everyone in the castle seemed to know that Arthur would do the hell out of something to whoever had sent the note, and no one wanted to see the hell out of something happen to one of their friends for an offense so minor as sending a note.

Merlin had once called it the "Servants' Code" and said that it was very much as important as the Knights' Code, if somewhat different in guidelines. The Servants' Code was simple: a servant does not tell of any other servant's transgressions unless they were so severe as to cause significant harm to someone or something else. According to Merlin, there were precious few servants who would turn on another of their status without serious cause. Merlin was likeable enough—there were probably people within the palace more than willing to keep his secrets for him. In fact, for all that Arthur knew, Merlin's magic had already been common knowledge amongst the servants prior to his outing as a sorcerer. He may have spent most of his time with the king, queen, and knights rather than among those of his same societal standing, but Merlin was still a servant and still enjoyed the protection of the Servants' Code. If Merlin's magic was kept secret among the servants, as it very well could have been, then there was no way that any of them would come forward to cast blame at any of their own for something so simple as passing a note.

Perhaps this was an issue that Arthur needed to work on. Not the dissolution of the Servants' Code; from the impression that he had gotten from Merlin, any attempts at that would just lead to extra gossiping among the servants about his motives and more unidentifiable meats in his meals. But maybe he needed to work at encouraging open discourse among everyone in the castle, maybe even everyone in Camelot. After all, if his citizens did not feel safe telling the truth to him, how could he run a country? How else could he protect their best interests and know what facts he should be considering when creating the laws that affect them all if they felt uncomfortable speaking to him?

He'd been told more than once that he needed to be more in touch with the people.

Perhaps the Knights' Code and the Servants' Code should not be as separate as they had always so insistently been. Couldn't there just be a…code?

That damn note!

Arthur was starting to wonder if he was developing an unhealthy tendency toward obsession. First it had been the fire room, then it was keeping purple candles out of his chambers, then it was wondering whether or not Guinevere was amusing herself by supplying the purple candles, then considering a stakeout to see who was slipping him purple candles, and now it was the note.

Guinevere said that obsessing over small and specific problems was just his way of avoiding focusing on the real issues that demanded his attention. He still wasn't sure if this was her way of trying to gently guide him toward the wisest courses of action or whether he was onto something with the candles and she was trying to steer him away from discovering the truth.

This was one of those moments that he most missed Merlin. Not necessarily as his advisor; he was coming to respect Guinevere's ideas the same as he did any of his council members, and it was to her he turned with Merlin gone. Her advice had never led him wrong, and really, it was usually guidance more than actual directions; she suggested how he should approach things, whereas Merlin basically showed him his options and then, whether his opinion was asked or not, told Arthur which he thought was best.

Together, Merlin and Guinevere made a formidable team.

But this time, he wasn't missing Merlin's contribution as an unofficial advisor. There were more pressing matters with which he could have used Merlin's help. Merlin understood when some issues had to be tabled to deal with those of greater gravity, something that his wife seemed rather inadequate with in regards to certain problems facing the king at that time.

,Merlin would have understood where Arthur was coming from with the candles and Merlin would have been willing to man the stakeout whilst Arthur did various kingly duties that were of arguably more importance. Merlin could have been trusted to keep quiet and laugh at it only when Arthur was in the room.

That, or Merlin would have been the one sneaking him the purple candles just to annoy him.

Enough about the candles. Maybe Guinevere had a point about his preoccupation with insignificant details when there were larger affairs at hand. Even Arthur knew that the situation that was stagnating down in his dungeons was getting out of hand if purple candles were diverting his thoughts back to his erstwhile servant. They were starting to invade his suspicions, his sleep, and his sleuthing.

So, it was with gritted teeth and bags under his eyes that he stomped his way back down to the dungeons for the second day in the row to visit-no, not to visit, to interrogate—the criminal lounging in the farthest cell. Probably enjoying himself, Arthur mused. He certainly had to exert himself far less in jail than he did as Arthur's servant.

Once again, Arthur burst through the door without so much as a pause for pleasantries with the sentry, who seemed so taken aback that he held the door open for far longer than was necessary after Arthur's entrance.

Then Arthur realized why. In the majority of his past visits to the dungeons, Merlin had been trailing a few feet behind him. This had apparently become such the expectation throughout the castle that workers seemed to be instinctually acting as though Arthur still had his two shadows, one far more talkative than the other.

Arthur spared a moment to turn back and glare at the sentry, who turned bright red and closed the door softly, clearly not knowing why the king was so irritated with him.

Having finishing taking his silent anger out on his sentry, Arthur stomped his way down to the farthest cell, where Merlin was already standing, as though waiting for Arthur. Arthur briefly wondered if Merlin was using some sort of dark magic to inform him of when the king was approaching, or if maybe he was just standing at readiness all day, just in case Arthur came for a visit.

Or, maybe he used his ears when Arthur came banging into the echoey corridor between the cells. That was another possibility. The first two, however, were more pleasantly illegal and pathetic, so Arthur chose to assume that it was one of those.

"Hullo, Arthur! Fancy meeting you here. How has life been up among people?" Merlin put on a bright smile, his tone so annoyed that Arthur had to suspect that he had made the smile extra perky just to emphasize the disapproval in his voice.

Arthur nodded with as much solemn dignity as he could muster. "Merlin."

Merlin nodded with far less dignity, then began to speak very quickly. "A lot has happened since we last spoke, Arthur. I have lots of news to share, among other things. But first, tell me, do you know the identities of the people who have been bringing me my food?"

This was hardly a question that Arthur would have expected to be a prelude to news. But of course, this was Merlin, and he was in jail, so maybe his definitions of news just then were some different than Arthur's. But wait…

"What do you mean? No, of course not. You're not meant to be receiving meals."

Merlin nodded again, seemingly only hearing the first half of Arthur's statement before absorbing the second. "Okay, good. Then…wait, what? You weren't going to be feeding me?"

Arthur winced. It sounded a lot worse when said aloud rather than written on an angry decree to the guards. And when the person doing the saying aloud was his pale and skinny prisoner. Plus, he'd forgotten about that particular order, so rashly given…no food…but, he would show no mercy! The man was a criminal.

Okay.

"You're a traitor to the crown, Merlin! Did you think that you were going to be getting the guest treatment?"

"Still!" Merlin glared at him, then shook his head slightly. Or else could not stop himself from shaking from lack of sustenance. One of the two. Either way, it seemed a very dismissive movement. "So, then, you don't know who have been giving me food?"

Arthur matched his glare. "No, I don't."

"Ah. Good, then I can give you these." Merlin reached his hand out past the bars, trying to pass something wrapped in cloth to Arthur.

Arthur backed away and put his hand to the hilt of his sword instinctively. The automatic movement somewhat embarrassed Arthur, given his audience. But this was the dungeon; dangerous things tended to happen in dungeons. One must always be prepared.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Come on, Arthur. If I wanted to attack you, do you really think that I'd be pulling for a fistfight? You would snap me like a twig. Besides, I'd just blow your head up from here or something if I really wanted to kill you."

Arthur glowered and snatched the package away from him, seizing the opportunity to avert his eyes. "Can you really do that? Blow people's heads up?"

Merlin leaned thoughtfully on the horizontal pole that ran through the bars of his cell. "Never tried. I can't imagine that it would be too hard, though."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, still leisurely unwrapping the parcel. "Do you spend a lot of time thinking about blowing up people's heads, Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head seriously. "No, but I've been blowing up melons through the grate in my cell all morning, and how different can heads really be, explosion-wise? And did you know, King Arthur, that those bloodthirsty children out there have taken to throwing melons at people in the stocks? Whole melons? It's inhuman! And extremely wasteful! Anyway, I felt honor bound as a veteran of the stocks to dispense with ammunition that large and…solid. And I haven't had much else to do down here." He exhaled very seriously, as though he had just reported a major crime to the king and could now sleep easily at night, trusting in justice.

"Is that so?" Arthur wasn't really listening. He was unrolling the package that Merlin had handed to him very slowly and cautiously. He knew that Merlin probably hadn't passed him anything dangerous, especially if he was spending all of his time so seriously considering the explodability of the human head, but there were guards watching, and he was king; there were ways that things were done. Proper procedures to be followed.

It didn't hurt that he was also somewhat enjoying hearing Merlin prattle on, even if he wasn't really absorbing the content.

Then he saw what was in the package. "What the hell? Merlin, where did you get these?"

Merlin grinned through the bars. "Did it really take you that long to unroll that little piece of cloth? Which I'd really appreciate having back, actually, if you wouldn't mind very much." He spoke very fast again.

Arthur wanted to punch something. Merlin was the most tempting of options, but the young man really didn't look as though he'd been eating for the past three days, and Arthur was wearing his armored gloves. It would hardly have been a fair hit. He was a knight, after all, and while chivalry tended to focus more on courtesy to women, he'd always imagined that hitting Merlin, really hitting him, would be basically the same as hitting a girl. He did not want to be unkind.

Also, the bars were much too narrow for him to reach a fist through with his gloves on.

At that moment, anyway, his favorite punching fist was very tightly clenched around the items that Merlin had wrapped in cloth and passed through the bars with his bony little wrist, and it did not seem to want to unclench anytime soon.

They were keys. Three different keys.

The first was a skeleton key that would have worked on just about any known type of lock in the five kingdoms. Skeleton keys were assigned only to knights, for emergency use should they ever get into sticky situations in enemy hands.

The second looked like it was the original key; it was certainly old and tarnished enough to match the lock on Merlin's cell. There were fresh marks on its handle that made it evident that the key had recently been wrenched from its place on an iron ring. Arthur didn't bother checking the bunches of keys at his belt to see for himself that he was missing one.

The third matched the outline of the original key exactly, but the metal was new. There were no scratches along its length, no rough patches or scrapes…even the head of the key looked as though it had never once been inserted into the lock for which it was designed. Arthur was fairly certain that it had never once been used.

Arthur fixed his gaze on Merlin, feeling murderous. Judging from the expression on Merlin's face, he looked murderous. The sorcerer certainly seemed to suddenly find the bars that separated them much more reassuring.

"Where did you get these?"

Merlin lay down on the cot that someone had smuggled into his cell and leaned back against the wall, interlocking his fingers behind his head; in fact, if it were it not for the wary alertness of his eyes, he would have looked as relaxed as Arthur had ever seen him. "Call them garnish."

"Merlin!" Arthur growled.

Merlin sighed. "Fine. In the bottom of a bowl of soup, baked into a loaf of bread, dunked in a flagon of mead."

"Who brought them?" Arthur's voice was deadly quiet, all thoughts of the Servants' Code vanquished from his mind.

It still, however, seemed to be prominent in Merlin's. He inhaled dramatically. "You know, I can't quite recall. Although I'll give you three guesses on the mead."

Arthur ignored the fact that Merlin had sounded just like his former self on his second sentence. There were far more important matters, and it wasn't entirely surprising anyway; Merlin had heard Arthur use that tone when discussing everything from slave traders passing through Camelot to the state of imperfectly polished boots. "When did you get them?"

"I've averaged one per day."

Arthur threw his hands up in the air, his bewildered frustration evident in every line and movement of his body. "Well, then why the hell are you still here?"

Merlin shook his head, suddenly very serious, looking as though he was honestly trying to help Arthur to understand, wearing that same urgent expression that Arthur had seen when he had walked away from Merlin the day before. "I told you, Arthur. I don't want to escape. I don't want to have to escape, that is. And even if I did, a key would probably just slow me down."

Arthur's glare intensified. Every word that Merlin spoke seemed to make the king feel more and more less in control of everything. As king! So, as was his custom, he responded rationally, hoping to resolve the situation as calmly and maturely as possible.

"You keep saying things like that, Merlin, but I don't believe that you can. You lit a room on fire and smashed a witch with a table. Big displays of brute force, which is a sentence that I never thought would apply to you, of all people, Merlin. You do anything like that to escape, you'll be heard, and half the guards in Camelot will come rushing down to catch you before you get so much as—"

The lock on Merlin's cell clicked, and the door creaked open.

Merlin raised his eyebrows and gestured for Arthur to keep talking.

Arthur slammed the door shut with so much force that it bounced open again, its hinges creaking and the gap even wider than when Merlin had magicked it open. Arthur was seething beyond speech by the time that he finally got the door properly closed and started fumbling for one of the three keys with his thick gloves. Helpfully, Merlin's eyes glowed, and the lock clicked again.

There was a full minute in which the two men glared at each other, not so much in anger as in unfamiliarity, as each tried furiously to guess what the other was going to do next, as each tried to reconcile the so familiar image of his counterpart with the actions that they were seeing before them, actively attempting to make unknown what was so known and to completely shift from closest of friend to most fundamental of enemy. Trying to make sense of it all.

Or was that just Arthur? Ever since he had found out about Merlin's secret and how closely entwined sorcery really was with his own life, it had been increasingly difficult for the king to realize where one man stopped and the other began.

Why was it so difficult for him? Arthur closed his eyes first, breaking their visual contact.

Merlin was first to break the silence. Arthur felt that it was nice to see that some things never changed.

"Ready to stay and listen to me properly yet?"

Stay and listen properly? At that moment, Arthur could barely stay and breathe properly. He had to get out of there, to think everything through, to not have to look Merlin in the eye as he made decisions that would make or break his existence, he had to…he had to give them both a chance to breathe. That simply could not happen just then.

"No."

And Arthur turned on his heel and began storming out of the dungeons with as much violence as he had entered. As he left, he was so confused by what he could seem to not do that he almost did not notice as he automatically slowed his pace to see if Merlin would call out another a request, as he had the last time that Arthur had left him in his cell alone.

There was silence but for the ringing in his ears as he marched out of the dungeons.

.

Arthur had no choice but to stop once he reached the corridor and to lean against the cool stone wall of the dim hallway. He took several deep breaths and began to focus on one sense after the other. He had learned after so many bouts of unconsciousness that this was an excellent way of regaining one's bearings.

Eyes. His eyes seemed to be working. He could see the flickering light and tentative shadows that danced with one another in their eternal battle for dominance in the firelight.

Ears. He could hear perfectly fine. The corridor was deserted, fortunately, but he heard the hissing of the candle at the wall adjacent to his ear, clearly burning close to the bottom and soon to run out of wax and wick.

Nose. Yes, that definitely smelled like a candle just minutes away from becoming no more than a few lingering wisps of smoke.

Taste. Sticking his tongue out, he found that the air around him seemed relatively without flavor, as could be generally expected of…air. But there was a coppery taste in his mouth and a sting at the sudden exposure to clean air that made him realize that he had bitten his tongue.

Touch. He was positive that his sense of touch was quite intact, for he soon became aware that he still held in his hand the keys and cloth that Merlin had handed him. Merlin had asked for the cloth back, Arthur remembered.

Good luck to him with that.

Vaguely curious and very tired, Arthur held the package up to the dying light to see just what Merlin had wanted returned to him. After squinting for a few moments, Arthur finally saw what they keys had been wrapped in.

It was Merlin's neckerchief.

Of course, it had to be Merlin's neckerchief.

He should burn it.

Then, sniffing and laughing self-consciously under his breath at the absurdity of the thought, he looked at it. It certainly did not seem long for this world as it was; Arthur had been right when he had decided that Merlin's stock of the ever stylish accessory would soon need replenishing.

The king examined it a little more closely. For all of the countless hours that he had spent with Merlin, he'd never really been able to handle a neckerchief that wasn't covered with his own blood. Oh, if only Arthur had just gone with the tourniquets and bandages, this might have never happened…

This one was different from that which Arthur had stolen to use as a pattern for his birthday present. It was made of the same kind of cloth—rough homespun that had been all that Merlin had ever touched before coming to Camelot—and had the same cut and stitch. Or something like that. He had learned most of these words from Guinevere and was still unsure what was what when it came to the art of sewing. This did not particularly bother him.

But this neckerchief was different. As he ran his fingers over it, he felt an abnormality in the stitching along one of the edges. Judging from the patterns of fading that were mottled across the majority of the fabric—colors shifting and warped from months of sun and rain and sweat and blood—the stitching was on the portion that Merlin apparently always kept close to his skin. It was the only part of the neckerchief that did not seem to be faded.

Then he held it more closely to the choking light of the nearby candle bracket and saw that it was not an abnormality in the sense that it was a mishap in the sewing or accident in the needlepoint—letters had been stitched onto the blue cloth with the same sort of homespun thread that all of Merlin's original clothes had been sewn with.

As the candle burned closer and closer to its end, he was still able to read the writing in the flickering light. There, lovingly stitched into the fabric with a hand obviously infinitely more graceful and steady than that of the neckerchief's owner, was a name. Merlin.

Arthur smiled.

Merlin had told him this story once; Arthur had just never made the connection. Merlin had said that his mother had been making quite a fuss when he was getting ready to head for Camelot. The exodus had been her idea and she had wholeheartedly supported his journey, for she wanted with all of her heart for nothing but safety and happiness for her only son, her baby boy, her only remnant of the man that she had once so loved. Merlin was guaranteed neither this safety nor this happiness if he were to stay with her in Ealdor. She was his mother and she loved him more than anything else in the world; so she sent him away.

But not before taking a needle and thread to just about everything that he owned that could hold a stitch. They did not have the money or means to buy all sorts of new things for his new life so far away from their small village, and Hunith had taken it upon herself to make sure that Merlin never lost track of or confused the few items that he did have. So she had gathered up all of the thread that she could find and stitched his name into all of his clothes and neckerchiefs.

Merlin said that he had always thought that she truly wanted to feel that she was with him, protecting him, even if she could not do it in person. She may not have been able to call him home every night and serve him dinner and see for herself as he grew into the man that he would become, but she could protect his neck from sunburn, and with every stitch that marked each neckerchief as his, she was marking him as hers, and she as his.

Arthur tended to make fun of Merlin whenever he started on his long-winded tales of life in Ealdor, usually launched into whenever Arthur was complaining about having to do some minor task. Whether intentionally or in his normal absent-minded way, Merlin tended to tell the same stories over and or again. Arthur usually yelled at him to stop before he got more than a sentence or two into a tale that he'd already been told, but when Merlin talked of his mother?

Arthur liked those stories.

He tucked the neckerchief into his pocket, his fleeting thought of conflagration gone as though it had never existed. Perhaps one day, he would have the chance to return it to its owner. He would think of a plan, but…later. Right then, Arthur was thinking only of Hunith and Ealdor and the simple life that Arthur had always said that he would hate and of how he knew without even bothering to consider the matter that Hunith's heart would wholly break when she heard of…whatever was going to happen to Merlin and how, no matter how many people loved him as completely as they possibly could, the only person who could wholeheartedly live for him at every moment was his mother and oh, what would Arthur have given to have had a mother and…how it had never occurred to him?

How had Arthur never thought of how this happened to every sorcerer's mother and father and sister and brother and son and daughter and husband and wife whenever another Pendragon execution struck one more blow against magic? How spouses would lose spouses and parents their children and how so many children would grow up without knowing a mother or father? Hell, the first witch who had ever tried to kill him was only doing it because Uther had killed her son.

How had he never seen before? Hunith was just the face of how many hundreds, even thousands who were destroyed not by magic's existence but by its persecution.

And of course, she had to be a lovely person…

Yes, he would think of a plan later. But for now, he would keep Hunith's needlework safe. He could do that, at least, for her. Even if it was too late for him to keep her son safe.

But really, truly…was it? Was anything too late for him? He was the king, damn it, and if anyone in Camelot had the leisure to choose as to how people should live and how they should be allowed to love and what they should be allowed to learn and how no mother should have to outlive her son and no son should have to live without a mother…

No, this was up to him. He had spent so much time working to protect the choices that his father had made for the kingdom because they seemed to be working that he had not bothered to make any choices of his own that could maybe, just maybe, work even better.

Then he remembered…when isolated together in the fire room, Arthur had asked Merlin how many lives he could have saved, and now he suddenly felt ashamed. After all, he had been prince and now he was king. How many lives could he have saved?

The candle finally burnt out, and Arthur was left in the total darkness.

When he was later able to think clearly once more, Arthur realized that he had been lucky with the candle's timing; once extinguished, no one would have been able to see him as he stood in the corridor and wept.


	15. He Is As He Was As He Is

When he was a boy, Arthur had been taught a certain way of describing animals that he had no knowledge of and had never seen before. When he was young, it was usually, "That giant thing that charged at me!" or "The monster right over there!" or "The beast that is currently ravaging the lower town!"

But these were apparently insufficient. Arthur had always felt that they got the job done. Plus, there were rarely two beasts simultaneously ravaging the lower town, so he had never understood why his tutors felt that he was making everything more confusing than it was.

Thus began the descriptions of animals as face of a beetle, body of an ox, and wings of a duck. Off of the top of Arthur's head.

Before Uther had begun consulting Gaius, who had only in recent years become more open with sharing his knowledge of all things magical, that had been the way to define creatures. Arthur shuddered to think of how many knights were slaughtered before they got past, "I must flee from that animal with the face of a wolf, body of a salmon, and wings of-". He had always thought that there should at least be a way to abbreviate the titles of the terrifying monsters as they were charging murderously at the ever-dwindling supply of Camelot knights.

But that was not how he had been taught. It was probably too simple and practical for his tutors. So, from the early days of his princely education to his procedures as king, Arthur had always stopped, looked, and examined a problem whenever it came charging at him and he was left with no way to escape. While this was not exactly the safest practice when facing a crazed beast of unknown skills other than ridiculous speed and effectiveness at chasing, it had actually served him well when considering problems of a less immediately lethal nature. The more complex the problem, the longer he took to consider it. This was one of the few ways of ruling in which Arthur was always consistently patient.

So it was a week before he felt ready to face Merlin once more. From the way that the pursings and avertings of Guinevere's lips seemed to be occurring more and more frequently as the days passed, she did not approve of Merlin's isolation. However, considering that Arthur was fairly certain that she had been the one to slip Merlin the new key, Arthur felt that he was being very generous in attempting to kiss her at all.

And he had given instruction that Merlin was now to be fed.

It had been a very helpful week, Arthur felt. It was not as though he was leaving Merlin down there hypothetically alone and unvisited just out of spite, as had been his original plan for not seeing Merlin for a full seven days. Plus, once word got around that Merlin was not planning on using any keys that would be slipped to him to escape, Arthur suspected that Merlin had begun receiving parcels of different contraband items. Arthur still had no idea how he had received his meals or cot, but he half expected to find Merlin with a full library and pantry the next time that he ventured down for a visit.

Damn his lovable nature.

No, Arthur did not feel particularly guilty, although he was significantly calmer over those seven days than he had been during the first three of Merlin's incarceration. He had broken Merlin's issue down.

He had not broken Merlin down, although he had alarmed his council members when he had suddenly barked out a laugh in the middle of a knighting ceremony when he had tried to attribute to Merlin the body parts of an animal. He did not take it upon himself to share with the rest the subject of his ruminations.

He was much more mature when handling the Merlin problem, for Arthur had become quite adept at simplifying things over the years of his life. So had Merlin, but that was one compliment that Merlin would never receive; Arthur could already hear Merlin's jokes about his development of simplification abilities as one of his necessary skills for serving Arthur.

Arthur actually wasn't making much progress until he realized that he was failing to look at the big picture. Just as he had had to step away from Hunith to realize the devastating ways in which the war on magic had affected all families of executed sorcerers, he had to step back from Merlin in order to formulate rational and objective thoughts about sorcery in general. He was far too close to Merlin to separate his anger and sadness and confusion and sense of betrayal from sorcerers as a whole. He could not consider one when there were so many more who would be affected. Merlin could be used as an example, certainly, but Arthur could not base his decisions on how they would affect Merlin's current…circumstances.

All right. He could do this. Just break it down, one by one, day by day.

.

On the first day, as he ate his breakfast:

Idea: Magicians not fundamentally evil.

Evidence: Merlin was, as he had shouted at Arthur, a man who had lied. A lot. But he hadn't done anything that Arthur could qualify as "evil." Annoying, poorly thought out, foolish…but never evil. Arthur had encountered plenty of sorcerers who had wished him and Camelot nothing but ill, but if he thought about it, really thought about it, could he blame them? After all, if someone tried to kill Arthur, he tended to just kill that person first. He supposed that he was just lucky that Merlin hadn't decided to go on a killing spree one day. And yes, Arthur may have encountered far more "evil" sorcerers than he had good ones, but if there was even one who did not deserve to be killed just for having magic, didn't that mean that the whole concept should be questioned?

Conclusion: Magic is not fundamentally evil; people can make evil choices.

.

On the second day, as he refused to get out of bed despite his manservant's pleas:

Idea: Magic could be used for good.

Evidence: If there were such things as good sorcerers, wouldn't it follow that their sorcery would also be good? If magic could be used to kill, could it not also be used to save? He'd asked Merlin that, in the fire room and, now that he thought about it, there were an awful lot of times that Arthur had escaped from seemingly impossible situations with no more than a bump on the head. Which he supposed were injuries caused by magic, but what choice was there if survival was the ultimate goal? He could forgive Merlin a few shots to the head if it meant a saved life.

Conclusion: If magic can be used for bad, then it can also be used for good.

.

On the third day, as he was being dressed in his armor:

Idea: Magic was not necessarily something sought by sorcerers.

Evidence: Why the hell would anyone living or coming to Camelot want to have so much as a hiccup of magical knowledge when it would lead to his death, if discovered? Wouldn't it therefore follow that perhaps at least some of the people were just born with magic and couldn't help who they were?

Conclusion: He did not know enough about magic to be able to judge the ways in which people acquired theirs.

.

On the fourth day, as he toured the lower town:

Idea: Arthur did not know much about magic.

Evidence: Despite his claims to the contrary, Arthur did not necessarily know magic when he saw it. He had liked to think that he would, but hadn't Merlin been a practicing sorcerer right under his nose for the last six and a half years without Arthur noticing? Merlin was far too clumsy and panicky for Arthur to consider him any kind of master of subtlety. No, he had most certainly either seen Merlin's magic or even seen Merlin doing magic plenty of times since they had known each other, even if he had not known what he was seeing. How many other times had he been fooled by edgy sorcerers, provoked into use of their powers out of either fear for their own lives or hunger for his?

Conclusion: Arthur definitely did not know much about magic.

.

On the fifth day, as his council members lined up along his very much non-circular table:

Idea: Magic was still against the law.

Evidence: There were many laws that both directly and via loopholes condemned the use of magic and universally resulted in execution, save for extremely rare pardons from the king. They had been Uther's laws; Arthur had not written any of his own, but he had also not even stopped to consider repealing those already in existence until he was forced, very much against his will, to consider the idea.

Conclusion: The laws needed at least reconsideration and rewording, if not tentative repealing.

.

On the sixth day, as he waited for his wife:

Idea: Magic was still against the law.

Evidence: The many laws marking it as the most illegal of illegal acts within the kingdom. As unjust as these laws may or may not have been, anyone who had actively done magic in the last thirty years or so was technically a criminal. To do magic was to break the law, and no one in Camelot could attempt to claim ignorance of the fact; children were told of the illegality before they were told how to eat with utensils. Merlin was a criminal. His biggest crimes against Arthur were certainly his lies and deceptions. But his crimes against the state were irrefutable and encompassing.

Conclusion: Arthur had no choice but to punish those who had willfully committed magic since its banning all of those years ago. Their sentences could be officially lessened, he supposed, depending on the severity of their magical acts and against whom they had been committed. But he was the king, and it was his job to enforce the laws. If he was to let go all of the sorcerers who had deliberately done magic with the knowledge of the way in which it was so severely punishable, what was to stop others from saying that the thieves and murderers should also be set free? Laws had to be enforced so long as they were legally legitimate.

.

On the seventh day, after he had laid awake all night whilst thinking:

Idea: Not all convicted sorcerers deserved to be killed, even if they must be punished. He must change the law for future generations. It was his job as king to take care of all of his people, whether they did or did not possess magic.

Evidence: Did he even need to formulate new evidence? All he could do was think about all of the conclusions that he had drawn over the previous six days and know, deep within his heart, that magic required legal reconsideration; and Arthur had always trusted his heart far more than his head. Yet, in his head, he knew that any attempts to lessen or even abolish penalties for magic users would meet great resistance among his councilors and portions of his public. He couldn't blame them. They'd had the evils of magic drummed into their heads for the past three decades, and the memories of the attacks of sorcerers over the years would certainly not help Arthur's efforts. His motivations had to be pure, motivated by care for his people, prompted by his own discovery of injustice, born of his realization that it was his duty as king to provide for his people, sprung dormant from his sense of right and wrong…he had to be doing this for everyone, not just for someone, or it would never be accepted.

Conclusion: Arthur needed to go to speak to Merlin.

Fantastic.

Well, there was no time like the present. With a far lighter and clearer head than he had possessed on his previous two most recent trips to the dungeon, Arthur made himself walk at a decent pace. No need to run or stomp or storm his way down there…no need to fuel any gossip about his temper or what some perceived to be a curiously emotional overreaction to Merlin's state…he would just walk.

Briskly.

When he entered the dungeon, slamming the door more by habit than anything else, he was slightly ashamed and mostly amused when he saw the sentry wince and avert his eyes, clearly hoping to avoid another death glare from his king.

Arthur wasn't feeling very death glare-y just then. He wasn't exactly happy; his musings on magic over the past week had hardly left him with a sound and easy mind, but it left him with options. With things that he could do. With the possibility of action. Gone was the impotence and feelings of helplessness that had been flooding him since he had realized that so much of what had been happening in his country was happening without his knowledge…now, he knew things, and he could taking action about them.

Arthur may have been born and bred for the throne, but he was not one fond of sitting on it.

Or of wearing that damn crown.

When he reached Merlin's cell, he found that the man was not standing and waiting for him this time. Arthur figured that he had just gotten so used to not being visited by Arthur over the past week that he no longer felt the need to stand all day at attention hoping for the king's arrival, as Arthur had chosen to assume had happened at his last visit.

He liked to assume that about most people.

Or maybe Merlin was just absorbed in his book.

Arthur had been right; Merlin may not have had the full library and pantry that he'd been imagining, but he did have a few books, an empty cup and plate neatly stacked atop one another in the corner, and a candlestick with a white candle burning low, a modest pile of replacements next to it.

Strangely, Arthur's first thought was not of how Merlin had procured the items, but a wondering of how he was managing to light the candles. His second thought was that he was very glad that he had not voiced the first aloud.

Merlin glanced up from his book absently, then started. He clearly had not been expecting the king. Judging from the way that the book went flying, Merlin hadn't realized that anyone was there at all.

Master of subtlety indeed.

Merlin scrambled to his feet, looking alarmed and indignant. "Oh, for the love of…Arthur! How long have you been standing there?"

Arthur just stared at him. Of course, Merlin would find it inconvenient for Arthur to come down to the dungeons. "I'm sorry, Merlin, perhaps I should have sent word ahead to set an appointment. Shall I come back at a better time?"

Merlin shrugged and picked up his book, brushing the dirt from the floor of his cell off of the cover and placing it gently next to his discarded dishes. Arthur was glad that he wasn't bothering to try to hide the items had so mysteriously procured. "Well, you're in a better mood today."

"I was until I saw the state of your cell. Merlin, if I come down to see you in another week, am I going to find you with more things in here than you have in your own bedroom?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and folded up his decidedly non-standard issue prison blanket. Was that an actual quilt? "If I ever get to see my bedroom again. Sorry that the place is such a mess, sire. I wasn't expecting company." Merlin paused, looking as though he was trying very difficult to appear casual. "So I take it that you're definitely leaving me in here for another week, then?"

Arthur shifted on his feet, feeling strangely awkward. "Um…it's just a common saying between…kings and prisoners. You'll pick up on them with time."

"During my indefinite future in here?"

"Merlin!"

Merlin sighed and took his place leaning on the bars, where Arthur could stand closely enough to him to speak quietly without the guards hearing. Or where Arthur could strangle him with as little personal inconvenience as possible. Two good options.

Arthur wasn't sure how to approach the subject that he had come to discuss. He decided to start with some topical small talk that could lead to a smooth transition

Topical small talk between the imprisoned sorcerer and the king who had sent him there. Should be easy enough. At least they had some common points for conversation.

Arthur put on his most winning smile. "So, you seemed surprised to see me today. Have you given up on expecting my daily life to revolve around you?"

Merlin looked at him strangely, the somewhat inexplicable beam on the king's face obviously somewhat unnerving him. "Arthur, I gave up on hoping that your daily life would ever revolve around anyone but you by my second day as your manservant. Anyway, I didn't hear you coming this time. Last time, you were stomping so hard down the corridor that I'm surprised the screws on the cells didn't start to unscrew with every footfall."

Arthur glared. He'd really been hoping that Merlin was just pathetically spending all of his time waiting for Arthur to come visit. The real reason was far less appealing.

"Merlin."

Merlin, knowing the king as well as he did, promptly acknowledged and ignored the warning in Arthur's voice.

"So, why did you decide to come? Having a boring day and thought you'd pop in? The rest of the castle overtaken by purple candles and you've had to retreat to the manly man room where purple is never allowed to enter? Or did Guinevere finally guilt you into coming back?" Merlin was speaking very quickly and, in Arthur's opinion, far too much. But then, he had been in jail for a week and a half. Maybe he was just starved for conversation.

"You've spoken to Guinevere."

Merlin shook his head. "I didn't say that. I just know Gwen and I know you and I know how things are probably going between you two right now and I would not blame you if you started visiting prisoners to get back on her good side."

"Anyway," Arthur segued smoothly, and Merlin grinned. "Anyway, I came down for two reasons. I came down because I need to speak to you. And I came down because I think that maybe it's time that I listened to what you have to say."

Merlin's grin faded, and that same sort of alertness that Arthur had seen on his last sojourn down the jail entered the sorcerer's eyes. Last time, there had been a glint of wariness, but this time…was it eagerness?

No. It was hope.

Merlin nodded and looked down at the ground. "All right. That sounds…that sounds like a plan."

Merlin's voice was somewhat thick, and Arthur only had time to hope that he wasn't about to start crying when Merlin looked back up and Arthur took an automatic step back. It was not through fear or shock this time, but rather through the sheer intensity in Merlin's gaze, and it was in that moment that Arthur knew that perhaps he should have listened on his very first visit to the dungeon.

Sounding as though it was taking him a great deal of effort to keep his voice neutral, Merlin asked, "Which did you want to do first? Talk or listen?"

Arthur nodded, more to himself than to Merlin. This was working. He'd been planning how this conversation would go ever since he had resolved to come to speak to the sorcerer, and this question had come up in his stratagem. Arthur had his answer well prepared.

"I'll talk first. Just please…don't say anything until I'm done. I need to get it all out first before it gets all muddled up in my head and I forget the order and…just don't interrupt, okay?"

Arthur took it as a note of the seriousness of the matter that Merlin didn't start to laugh at him for implying that he would be easily confused by an interjection or two.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Merlin, I've been thinking about everything. I know that you probably want to say something about how it always takes me a week to think about anything, but this was something that I wanted to be sure about before I came to talk to you. I want to be sure when I decide to…do whatever it is that I have to do to you."

Arthur began to pace. "Because that's the point, Merlin. I have to do something. You know that, right? Don't answer, just nod. Right? I realized it after I saw you last time, that I am the king and that I have a choice in the way that I manage my kingdom, and that includes the people in it, and the people include everyone, even…even sorcerers. It is my choice as to how the laws should or should not be changed. But, Merlin…it's still illegal. You still broke the law. You were right when you said that the real reason that I was mad was because you're a huge bloody liar. Don't you shake your head at me, you know that I'm right about that. But that is why I was mad, I think.

"The reason that you're still in jail, though, even after I realized that you were right—about that, don't get excited—is that you still broke the law. Even if the laws as written now are unfair, they are still the laws because I have not changed them. That fault lies with me and me alone. But, you…why did you have to do it so publicly, Merlin? If you had to have a hissy fit and light a room on fire—I am not harping on about that, I know that's what that smirk means—if you had to do that, couldn't it have been when I told you to remake my bed or reheat my bathwater or crawl around on the floor like a rat because that's what you served me for dinner…I mean, sometime alone in my chambers? Because everyone knows, now, Merlin. There's no denying the existence of your magic now. Everyone saw it, everything's…new. And I have to do something to you. I can't help all of the others like…you…if it looks like the only reason that I'm doing it is to help you. I mean, Merlin, everyone who knows me knows you. Everyone expects me to either kill you or save you. And I can't save you and save them at the same time. Do you understand, Merlin? Can you understand why it has to be this way? Go on, you can talk now."

Merlin smiled as Arthur had never seen him smile before. "Yes, I definitely understand."

Arthur nodded, feeling exhilarated and terrified at the same time. "Good. Good. Now, I have to ask you something, Merlin, and if you have any ounce of goodness in you, you'll tell me the truth."

Merlin nodded.

"Merlin, tell me. What the hell do I do?"

Merlin nodded again, looking thoughtful. "Can I answer your first question, before I tell you what the hell you should do? When you asked about me going public with my magic?"

Arthur nodded.

"Are you sure? Because it is going to be a hissy fit, and it's not going to be pretty. You can talk, by the way."

Arthur just nodded anyway.

Merlin took a deep breath. "Why did I have to go and do my magic in public? I'll tell you why. Because I'm human, Arthur! You're not the only one who wants to throw a temper tantrum whenever something doesn't go his way, you're just the only one who's allowed to do it! Do you ever even think? You yell at me for being too skinny and then don't give me time to eat. You criticize the shabbiness of my clothes, but you don't pay me enough to buy anything because I don't have the heart to mooch off of Gaius without contributing when he never asked for a surrogate son and only took me in as a favor. You complain about my general ineptitudes as a servant without stopping to think that maybe I don't know all about the workings of a castle because I was raised for the life of a farmer, not a servant, and certainly not a servant to a king!"

Merlin paused to draw breath.

Arthur nodded a few times, raising his eyebrows and gesturing for Merlin to keep going.

"Is that all? Because you're not going to get a lot of opportunities for this and—"

"No, I am not done! You called me a traitor? Okay, fine. Call me a traitor. But tell me, Arthur, was it a traitor who stayed up all night after your father died so that you wouldn't be alone? Was it a traitor who drank poison for you? Was it a traitor who risked arrest and imprisonment and who knows what else to stay in Camelot because the queen was a troll and no one else knew or believed, Arthur? Was it a traitor who took charge and gathered the knights because you were too busy moping in the corner of a cave when your sister sacked Camelot? Tell me, Arthur, would a traitor with more powerful magic than you have ever seen and, let's be honest, will probably ever see stay in a kingdom where the royal family would have his head on a plate, to stay without attacking it or killing the people who would have him killed? And if those words didn't describe a traitor, then open your eyes, my lord, because I'm the one who did them all. Come on, Arthur. I lied."

Merlin stopped to draw breath again, then seemed to be thinking very seriously.

Arthur dared to speak again, lest this was just another brief pause between rants. "Now are you done?"

Merlin nodded contemplatively. "I think so. Those were the only two that I had planned."

"You had them planned? That explains a lot."

"Yeah," Merlin said, rubbing his eyes. "My second speech would have been a lot more scathing if it had come before your whole speech in which you basically admit that you don't think that I'm a traitor."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I did not say that. But those two little rants of yours definitely seemed a little bit too put together for a spur of the moment proclamation. I don't doubt that you've had these feelings for a while, but to be able to improvise all of it…it was…overly-eloquent."

"Well, I am the one who writes your speeches."

Arthur stared thoughtfully at the ground. Merlin watched him with the sort of empathetic expression of concern that he always wore when he thought that Arthur didn't know that he was being watched. Knowing that Merlin was looking over him in that same way that he always had made Arthur feel as though a warm hand had just been placed on his shoulder; meant to comfort without overpower and to show companionship without pressure, yet there to hold him up in case he fell all the same.

That did it.

Very quickly, before he could think better of it, Arthur snapped his head up again and put his hand on the rusted door to Merlin's cell. "Merlin, open the door."

Merlin looked taken aback with Arthur's sudden movement and somewhat wary. "Why?"

Arthur rattled his hand on the bars. "Just open it. I'd do it myself, but I don't have the keys on me."

Merlin raised his eyebrows and sighed, looking uncertain, but his eyes glowed and the lock clicked.

Arthur yanked the door open, grabbed Merlin by the shoulder, and pulled him into an embrace, trembling as though every horribly conflicting feeling that had washed over him during the past two weeks was rushing over him in a single instant. He wanted to cry.

He felt like a complete girl. Or how he imagined that Merlin felt most of the time.

From the sniffing that he heard over his own shoulder, Arthur guessed that Merlin actually was crying. Of course he was.

Arthur laughed. Of course he was.

Merlin seemed to know the source for Arthur's sudden mirth, because he pulled away and wiped his face on his jacket sleeve, laughing himself.

"Wow, Arthur. A hug."

"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur stepped back, already feeling awkward, and gave Merlin his practiced arm-pat-of-manly-affection, hoping that that was it and they could never speak of what had transpired between them ever again. Surely Merlin could understand that.

"So, tell me," said Merlin inquisitively, and Arthur groaned on the inside. "Is one of us dying? Is the world about to end? Are you about to tell me that you're going to have me killed? Something must be going on, because you just went for a hug."

"Merlin." First warning.

"And it wasn't even an easy hug. It was premeditated, required effort. A door had to be unlocked and opened and everything."

"Merlin." Second warning.

"I'm proud of you, Arthur, really. How does it feel to let your emotions loose like this? Healthy? Cathartic? Like a blessed taste of sweet freedom?"

"Merlin!" Last warning.

Merlin held his hands up in surrender, more than familiar with Arthur's warning countdown, then stepped back past the doorframe of his cell.

"This was a truce, right? A ceasefire? As soon as you cross that threshold back up into the real world, you'll be the king with legislation on his mind and I'll be the criminal trying to think of new ways to blow up fruit. Right?"

Arthur nodded gravely. Merlin did not seem surprised or even annoyed by this. It almost looked like he was smiling, with pride. But that was surely just lingering from his jests at Arthur's unexpected display of affection. Surely.

Arthur turned to leave. The fact that Merlin seemed so understanding and unsurprised by Arthur's intention to leave him as he was, despite their conversations, made everything all the more unpleasant. He made it only a few steps before he remembered the second reason why he had come to the dungeons.

"Wait, Merlin, you…you wanted to tell me something. Hasn't that been what you've been saying every time that we've seen each other ever since you set my council room on fire—shut up, Merlin!—and then got drunk and passed out? What did you so desperately need to tell me?"

Merlin smiled, hands on either side of the doorframe in a stance of easy unconcern. "I just wanted to tell you why I've done everything that I've done."

This should be interesting. "And why's that?"

Merlin stepped back and shut the door behind him. When he looked at Arthur to give his earnest answer, it was through bars.

Arthur would remember Merlin's answer for the rest of his life

"Because I thought it was for the best."

Arthur nodded yet again, unable to speak for a moment. "And then one last thing. You never told me, Merlin. Never answered my question."

"What question was that?"

Arthur glared, unsure whether Merlin honestly didn't know what he was referring to or whether Merlin was trying to embarrass Arthur by making him repeat his earlier request. Ruler to servant, monarch to magician…"You were supposed to tell me, Merlin, what the hell I am supposed to do."

"Oh, yes," Merlin smiled. "I forgot."

Arthur believed him, and his voice grew softer; with the decrease in volume and sharpness, the sad vulnerability began to seep through once more. "Well, Merlin? Tell me, just, tell me…what the hell do I do?"

As Arthur looked at him with more desperation that he would have even liked to convey, he saw as Merlin's eyes glowed and the lock clicked, trapping the sorcerer once more inside of his cell. Thus locked in, he leaned forward on the bars of his door, propped up by his elbows with his forearms sticking out into the corridor.

"You should come back and see me tomorrow."

Of course that was his answer.

Well, there was only one fitting response to such a quiet provocation. "No, Merlin. It's like you said—this was a truce between king and criminal—temporary. We must resume our proper places. I just needed to…say some things out loud and you were the only one who could hear them and would tell me if they were...you were the only one who would not see me any differently after you heard the sorts of things that I had to say. That's the only reason that I came down here, Merlin. But I give you my word that I will never come to see you again after this."

Arthur turned and headed down the corridor, trying very hard to mean every one of his words and not looking back. If he had, he would have seen the utter heartbreak on Merlin's face and perhaps understood that, just as he knew that Merlin would see him no differently no matter what he said, Merlin had hoped against hope that Arthur would see him no differently no matter who he was.

"Arthur."

Arthur glanced backward, only instinctively at the speaking of his name.

It was long enough. In that single instant, he was able to see the grin that spread across Merlin's face and reached into his overly bright eyes as he laughed once more through the bars of the cell, into which he had so willingly and effortlessly locked himself for the second time. Arthur saw the mouth move, and by seeing that, he lost all possibility at pretending that he had been merely hearing things when Merlin's voice called out just three words after him.

"Yes, you will."


	16. When None Were There To Hear

IV/VII

.

Arthur would have thought that he would be an expert on the subject of power. He had been born of royalty; he'd had power from the moment of his birth. As an infant, he'd automatically outranked in levels of importance every other person in Camelot except for the man who had sired him. Yes, Arthur was very familiar with power.

But was it power if it was inconspicuous? If a person showed his might through silent action rather than boastful word? Was power still power if it was tempered by modesty or invisibility? And what was the point of having power if no one knew that you had it?

Arthur had found that thinking in the form of a question was strangely reassuring. He could ask himself all manner of questions that would be entirely uncomfortable if he thought of them in terms of himself. But in general, philosophical, vague terms? Arthur was the most cheerfully thoughtful man in the five kingdoms. He could almost feel a tingling in his head that was his wisdom growing.

Or his hairline was receding. That was what Guinevere had said when he'd made the mistake of voicing this sensation to his wife. Usually, she would have smiled and laughed with him about it. Of course, he usually didn't keep one of her closest friends moldering away in the dungeons as he pondered the meaning of life whilst wearing a crown.

Women were so hard to understand sometimes! And his hairline was fine. A morning of carefully examining his scalp had proved her wrong. In fact, he was fairly certain that he had accidentally yanked out more of his blond strands in his attempts to thwart off the threat of balding than regularly he lost on a weekly basis.

For the first time, he was fairly glad, during that morning, that Merlin was not his manservant. Not just because his knees would have started wobbled a mere hour after Arthur instructed him to hold his looking glass steady at head height, but because Merlin would have never shut up about how he had always thought that Arthur was losing his hair by the bunches and that Guinevere was wise to have picked up on it. Merlin did like to imply that Arthur was vain. And that ridiculous servant would have had the king up all night wondering whether or not he was lying about his hairline just to frighten him.

Which brought him back to power once more. Why had Arthur never realized? He was the prince and then the king; he could order Merlin to do just about anything and Merlin would have had to comply; he outranked Merlin in everything from status to brute strength (in Arthur's ranking system, height is by far the least important of the comparable measures of a man); and yet Merlin could embarrass him! Merlin could make him paranoid about his looks and his presentation! Merlin, by not fluffing his pillows well enough, could destroy a good night's sleep. As a servant, the lowest of the low, Merlin still had considerable power over Arthur!

This was not concerting. And he had forgotten to phrase it impersonally in his head. The thoughts of his hairline had distracted him, as they always tended to do. At least no one would notice immediately once he started to go gray…after all, grays and whites are harder to spot from a distance in the hair of a blond!

…Power. That was the more important issue. Especially when it came to the sorcerer currently resting comfortably in Arthur's prison. He had at first been completely frustrated at the amount of influence that Merlin's situation was having over his daily life, but his ruminations of that day were beginning to ease his discomfort. After all, if Merlin was able to affect his daily life as a mere servant whose only usable weapons were a smart mouth and the ability to squeeze into incredibly narrow spaces when running away, then it was certainly understandable if he crossed Arthur's mind once or twice when he had caused such upheaval in the king's court.

Everything was perfectly ordinary, and Arthur knew, even before he was finished being dressed, that he would have no trouble keeping his word to Merlin. He would never see the man again.

The world was fine once more; he could run his castle as usual, he could refresh his memory on the existing laws against magic to figure out the measures that he would have to take for some swift amendments, his probably still had years before he had to worry about hair loss or graying, Guinevere had seemed less begrudgingly in love with him during their morning walk about the grounds; all in all, order was restored to the castle and its king, who had everything that he could ever want or need with him in the world above. What lay below the castle's main floor was of no concern to him, and he need not think on it.

It seemed like Merlin knew that something was different that day. It could have had something to do with the fact that Arthur had come down to visit him when he had only the day before proclaimed that he would never see him again, or that Arthur had ordered all of the other guards away out of earshot, or even that he had brought Merlin a meal, a proper meal that was warm in all the right places and cold where it was supposed to be and not illegally smuggled in, or even that Arthur was so subdued that he had forgotten to hint to Merlin that something unnatural had been done to his food and drink.

But Merlin looked as though he knew that there was more to it. There certainly seemed to be a lightness in his eyes and an easiness in his smile, devoid of sarcasm or derision, that Arthur had not seen since the day that Merlin had lit the world on fire.

He didn't even seem like he wanted to make fun of Arthur for initiating a hug (which Merlin had certainly not protested) at their last meeting, and he'd had more than twenty-four hours to come up with various names to call the king. Instead, Merlin went with a classic. "Hello, Arthur!"

"Hello, Merlin." Arthur was every bit as subdued as Merlin was cheerful as the food was handed through the bars, magically widened for a moment to allow safe passage of the silver plate. Merlin nodded his thanks, apparently knowing that Arthur did not want to say anything on the matter.

"You're back." There was no gloating in his voice; nor was there surprise. Merlin had known that Arthur would return, and Arthur wasn't sure if it was more or less frustrating that Merlin seemed unwilling to taunt him for lasting little more than a full day away from the dungeons.

Arthur was articulate, as always in his response. "Yeah."

Merlin pointed with eyes to the doorway, then back to Arthur. "You dismissed the guards."

"Your skills of observation are, as always, unparalleled."

Merlin was not to be discouraged by insults. He was used to those. "Did you do that so that you would be able to kill me without any witnesses? Because I have to tell you, Arthur, if that's the case, you're gonna have to go get the keys. I will not open the door for you if that's the plan for today."

"Merlin—"

Merlin was not to be deterred. "Personally, I would want at least some witnesses if you do decide to slaughter me with your bare hands. And it's not like anyone could do anything to you. No one would blame you; you are the king, and I am, by all accounts, a very annoying prisoner. I'm serious. Ask the guards." Merlin whispered his final sentences, as though he was sharing an extremely confidential secret. Arthur, on the other hand, had no difficulty whatsoever believing that Merlin would be a very annoying prisoner.

"If you're so annoying, how is it that you keep accumulating more and more amenities every time that I come down here?"

"…Magic…"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You are such a liar! You wouldn't dare."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Not so! Seriously, I do magic in here all the time. Do you think that my candles light themselves? Do you think that my curtains hung themselves? Do you think that the rotten pumpkins in the square by the stocks just disappear every night? Honest, sire, I'm basically a public menace. I spend most of my day doing magic."

Arthur was unimpressed. "Yeah, and reading. And what was that about curtains?"

"Ah." Merlin put the covered dish that Arthur had brought him down on the ground and reached up to the edge of the ceiling of his cell closest to Arthur, where the bars made a right angle with the roof. There, fumbling with something beyond the reach of Arthur's

eyes on the other side of the bars, Merlin suddenly jumped back as a thick bolt of cloth fell down and blocked the contents of the cell from Arthur's vision.

Pendragon red.

"Are you kidding me? This is ridiculous! Merlin, you need to take—you—Merlin, are you listening?"

"Of course I am, sire," came a somewhat muffled and indignant voice from beyond the curtain, as though Merlin was offended that the king could even suspect that he was doing something less than respectful behind the curtain that was most definitely not part of the original plans for the dungeons.

"Lift the curtain, will you? I need to be able to see you to yell at you properly."

Most obligingly, Merlin lifted the curtain and began to roll it up toward the ceiling again; this time, Arthur could see as Merlin tied small bits of rope around it to keep in from falling again. The ropes seemed to be made of…ceiling, which hardened back to rock as soon as Merlin was finished.

Magic was so unfair.

"Why the hell would you need a curtain in your cell? Considering how you seem to be determined to thwart everyone else's plans for your escape, I'm guessing that you're not planning some secret flight from jail that requires absolute solitude, and everyone knows about your magic anyway, so why bother hiding it?"

Merlin pursed his lips and looked primly at the king. "If you must know, Arthur, I felt uncomfortable changing in front of the guards everyday. They have…prying eyes. I mean, would it kill them to shut their eyelids or avert their gazes for two minutes every day?"

Arthur wished that he found this surprising. "They're guards, Merlin. Of course they have prying eyes. And what on earth do you have to change into? Has the royal seamstress finally smuggled you a set of silk nightclothes and a dressing gown yet?"

Merlin pointed to a pile of clothes that were rumpling on his cot. They seemed to be copies of what he was already wearing, certainly not made of any sort of fabric used by the tailors within the castle. Arthur was willing to bet that there was a carefully stitched Merlin hidden in the seams of every single article, the words probably protected as well as they could by their loving wearer. With a pang, Arthur realized that these were probably all of the clothes that Merlin owned in the world.

Clearly still focused on the importance of curtains in jail cells and unaware of the specks of pity that were currently feebly sparking in Arthur's mind, Merlin continued to defend himself. "I know, I know, they're basically just the exact same clothes that I'm wearing now, but I have to tell you, just changing every day makes all the difference. It makes this room feel much more…homey."

Arthur rubbed his face with his hands. Maybe this was why Uther had executed all of the sorcerers that he'd caught, if they all seemed to enjoy prison so much. If Arthur had been a king who didn't already know Merlin, he would have been tempted to confirm Merlin's original suspicions and just murder him on the spot without any witnesses. If that first sorcerer that Uther had caught had been a Merlin, his Great Purge would have been somewhat more understandable, if not in the least excusable. Honestly, Merlin seemed to be treating his imprisonment as more of an opportunity for pursuing his long dormant passion for interior decoration than an actual punishment.

Then he caught a sharp flicker in Merlin's eyes as he watched Arthur, the goofy façade fading for but a second, and Arthur was reminded of how little he really knew about Merlin. He didn't doubt that Merlin meant the things that he was saying; if anyone was going to worry about the prying eyes of the guards in a prison, it would be Merlin; but Arthur suddenly knew that the words that he was hearing were not the only words that Merlin was saying. No, Merlin was feeling him out, gauging the situation, evaluating the best way to stage his interactions to reach his most desirable outcome.

Calculating.

And then Arthur remembered why he had come.

"Okay, Merlin, shut up about the curtains. I'm sure that your life had been changed irrevocably and that you'll never be the same after the rapture that you've clearly experienced. I don't care. That's not what I came to talk to you about."

Merlin nodded, and what had been a flicker of sharpness only moments before quickly overtook his features. The goofiness was still there, but…at bay.

"What would you like to talk about, then, Arthur?"

Off to a good start. "I want to talk about what you think should be done about this whole 'situation' that you've gotten us into. And why you wouldn't just tell me yesterday. And why the hell I seem to be willing to keep coming back to ask."

Merlin started to bite on his thumbnail and bounce up and down on his heels, tiptoe to flat-foot over and over again. "Okay. Okay. Just…give me a minute."

Even better. An opportunity for a smart remark!

"What, did you forget to plan a speech ahead of time?"

Merlin didn't miss a beat. "No, I was too busy with the curtains. Did you see, Arthur, how they attached to the—"

"Merlin!"

"Well, shut up and give me a minute then!"

Arthur gave up. If this was what it took, then fine. If Merlin wanted to act crazy, he could act crazy. He was probably bored out of his mind as it was.

Then Merlin came as close to Arthur as he could with the bars between them. "Okay. Arthur. What I'm going to tell you now…I didn't not tell you yesterday just to frustrate you. No matter what you may think of me at the moment, I don't have the heart to really try to trample on a person who's been so clearly confused as you've been lately. Although, today you seem—"

"I have not been confused!"

Merlin chuckled under his breath, no mockery in his face. Only understanding. "Arthur. Come on. The guards are gone, there are no other prisoners, and I know better. Just admit…okay, fine. You haven't been confused. You were just so…shall we say 'grouchy?'…yesterday that I didn't particularly feel up to provoking you. Up to over-provoking you, anyway."

"Then why didn't you tell—"

Merlin raised his voice for the first time. "Because I didn't know, Arthur! You've gotten so used to me being the 'information' side of this huge problem of yours that you seem to have forgotten that I don't know anything that is really going on up there. I get curtains and crumbs and reassurances. Yesterday, I could just figure out how to deal with everything on the spot! It was kind of…overwhelming to all happen at once."

Arthur allowed that this was understandable. "But you know now?"

Merlin shifted his head around in a sort of noncommittal gesture. "In a manner of speaking."

"Merlin…"

The sorcerer waved the warning away. "Settle down, your worship, I'm talking, I'm talking. Look, the answer is yes and no. I sort of know how to you should try to fix what's been broken."

Arthur nodded. "By you."

"No, Arthur, by the sudden introduction of magic into the rigidity of an outdated political environment that just so happened to have thrown everything into a chaos!"

"By…you."

"Arthur!" Merlin exhaled heavily on the name. "I didn't know that this was going to happen. Not this exactly. I'd never even done the spell for the fire room before. Do you want to know what I think or not?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows and gestured regally at Merlin, trying not to start at the deliberate mention of that ridiculous fire room, who rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'm just going to open with something that I hope will help to explain why I say the things that I'm going to say."

Merlin took a deep breath and started to pace back and forth, as though he had too much energy to be contained within his tiny and increasingly cramped cell. "Arthur, you should know…the decision that you make about this will define your kingship for the rest of your life and as it will be remembered in history."

"The decision that I make about…you."

"Yes, about me." Merlin sounded pleased that Arthur was keeping up. Arthur did not appreciate this.

"I think that you might be overestimating your importance a little bit, Merlin."

"I'm not. No, listen, I'm really not. Now, I said that I have an answer that is yes and an answer that is no. Which do you want to hear first?"

Arthur eyed his suspiciously. "Will you tell me both answers no matter what, or is this some strange sorcerer's game where you can only tell one secret or you spontaneously catch fire or something?"

Merlin stared at him. "My god, Arthur, has someone told you about our secret sorcerer games? Do we have a spy at our secret sorcerer meetings? How did you find out about what we do for fun?"

Arthur scowled. "Oh, shut up, I was just asking. Excuse me for not trusting your word as given!"

Then it was Merlin's turn to scowl, although his was somewhat chastened. "I'll answer both. I just want to know which you want to know first."

Arthur pondered his options. "Which answer is longer?"

Merlin shook his head and began to pace faster. It was very distracting. "This is ridiculous. How have you managed to make this so complicated? Okay, when I stop talking, just say 'yes' or 'no.' It's that simple."

"Merlin—"

"Arthur!"

"Fine!" Arthur sighed in annoyance. "No, then."

Merlin winced.

"What?"

"I was hoping that you'd pick yes."

"Then why did you give me the option!"

"I don't think that I thought things through as much as I should have."

"Who's overcomplicating things now, Merlin?"

"Fine!" Merlin's scowl had become distinctly less chastened. "'No.' Hmm. Okay, first of all, do you have a key to this cell?"

"Not on me, no. Why?"

Merlin sighed in self-conscious relief. "Because you're not going to like what I have to say, and I tend to find protective areas very comforting when you get mad. But, okay. Second of all…ah. Second of all: Arthur, I can't tell you want to do this time. Not the way that I used to do whenever given half a chance."

Arthur deflated. After all of that buildup, Merlin was going to try to hedge his way out of giving a straight answer. Could Merlin be more of a girl? Next he'd be asking if his neckerchief made him look fat. As if anything could make Merlin look fat.

"Why not?"

Merlin preemptively took a few steps back from the bars before going back to his pacing. "Because you can't trust me on this."

Arthur re-inflated with such zeal that Merlin would have been worried for the king's health and safety if he was not so preoccupied being worried for his own.

"Wha—what? You've spent most of all of the time that we have spent near each other lately telling me how much of a traitor that you're not and how you're just about the most trustworthy idiot of all of the trustworthy idiots in the whole of Camelot! And now you're telling me that you're not?"

Merlin raised both hands placatingly, his eyes wide and familiar in their willingness to accommodate; his expression and tone, however, remained firm.

"Arthur—no, Arthur, listen. I'm not a traitor and you can trust me not to do anything to harm you or Camelot. But, Arthur, you said it yourself yesterday. Before you declared that you would never see me again. Remember that, just yesterday? Okay, I'll stop. But you said it yourself, that it is your job to make decisions in the best interests of all of the people in Camelot as well as the sorcerers. Arthur…don't you see? I'm both. I'm a regular person who lives and works in Camelot. I just happen to also be a regular person who is ridiculously good at magic. Don't roll your eyes at me, Arthur Pendragon! It's not bragging if it's true!" Merlin actually put one hand on his hip and waved a finger critically in the king's direction. Yes, Merlin had been starved for company alright.

Taking another breath, he continued. "I've spent a significant portion of the last six and a half years working to protect you, making even some…less than morally praiseworthy decisions, to keep you safe and to keep you from hating yourself. I've advised you in ways that have done nothing but made my prospects in life worse. But I can't do it this time, Arthur. I can't make decisions that make all of the other sorcerers in the kingdom suffer because of a personal need to look after you. You said yesterday that you can't save them and save me. Well, Arthur, I can't protect what is best for them and be absolutely sure that I can give you the advice that you deserve on this. Don't you see? I am just about the least unbiased person in Camelot with this issue! I have a foot in both worlds, and I…care too much about each one to be able compromise them. The best advice that I can give you, right now, Arthur, is to trust yourself, because you at least can be sure of your motivations."

There was a long pause; Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin was done or not. The pacing had stopped, and Merlin did not seem to be preparing himself for another rant of the 'no' variety.

Arthur didn't want Merlin to be done speaking. He was willing to accept the remonstrances and try to understand the protests, but he didn't want for that to be it. He waited for far too long for Merlin to pick up with "…but this is what you should do!"

It didn't seem likely to happen. He opened his mouth, wanting to argue with Merlin, to say that since Merlin could see these things about himself, surely he could step away from himself enough to talk Arthur through this. But how could Arthur do that to Merlin? It sounded as though living a life in which he had to try to secretly reconcile both halves of him without attracting attention had been all but killing him; how could Arthur ask him to rip those two parts of himself wholly apart just because he didn't know what to do? And what kind of king would he be if he would demand that of anyone?

Arthur nodded and looked Merlin in the eye. "Okay then. What was the 'yes?'"

Merlin stared at him, clearly having expected the argument that Arthur had so wanted to present. "What was the what?"

Arthur felt more in control of himself than he had in weeks. "You said that you had a 'yes' and a 'no' answer for me, and that was the no. Would you please tell me the yes now?"

It was a query, not a request. Arthur expected to be told the answer.

Merlin appeared to pick up on Arthur's change in tone, because he started pacing again, the crackling energy returning to his steps. "Okay, Arthur…the 'yes.' I should warn you that this is the complete opposite of the 'no.'"

"Whereas every other yes and no are basically twins to each other."

Merlin threw a quick scowl at the king, but seemed too intent on his purpose to stop to throw any real cheek in his direction. "Yeah, so, instead of telling you all of the things that I can't do and that I can't tell you what to do, I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you exactly what you should do."

Arthur shrugged, encouraged. This was how it was meant to be going. He gestured to Merlin to continue speaking, who began to do so with such speed that Arthur was left to wonder whether or not he was keeping Merlin from doing something of importance. It was probably time for him to close his curtains and take a nap or something.

There was no time for him to amuse himself with mental jokes at Merlin's curtain-loving expense; Merlin was speaking so quickly that Arthur could not afford to give in to distraction. Merlin was going to tell him what to do. Hell, someone was telling him what to do. He would have accepted advice from his nameless manservant by this point.

Okay. Merlin. Focusing time.

"—Arthur, alright?"

Arthur nodded, assuming that he had been meant to agree with whatever Merlin had just said. Merlin seemed heartened by this and continued.

"So, here's what should happen. You need to assemble your council and tell them that it is of the utmost importance that a decisive ruling be made regarding how to handle my crimes. You need to tell them that you are aware that you are too close to both myself and my crimes to make an objective decision. Which, you know, you totally are. Anyway, you say that you feel your father's influence now more than ever before, and that you need his dearest and most trusted advisors to cast their votes as to what to do to me or with me or whatever. Acquit, imprison, banish, execute. Four choices. As to your council members, you need to get five of them. If you feel like you need more, fine, but make sure that it's an odd number, and choose carefully. I say to go with five. You'll need Lionel of Maxworth, William of Southerly, Baxter of Gladstone, and any two others, it doesn't matter."

Good thing that Arthur had focused. Nodding agreement would have seemed somewhat insufficient after this little speech.

It seemed to be all that he was capable of just then. Merlin had just thrown so many facts and recommendations in Arthur's direction that he didn't know how he was going to process any of it.

So, back to the basics. Arthur would break it down.

Fortunately, after his extensive practice with breakings down over the recent days, Arthur was getting faster with his analyses. He could thank Merlin's predicament for that, at least.

Arthur looked up to find Merlin watching him in concern. Considering how Merlin seemed to be crediting his intelligence as of late, he was probably wondering if Arthur had thought so hard that his brain was breaking.

Arthur exhaled mightily, closing his eyes. Without opening them, he began to challenge the more…unlikely pieces of Merlin's last statement.

"You want the council to vote on whatever is to happen to you."

"Well, not all of them. That would be kind of a lengthy ordeal, and far more unpredictable. Go with the group of five."

"Lionel of Maxworth, William of Southerly, and Baxter of Gladstone."

"Yes. And two others. You can't vote. You're too biased."

"Lionel of Maxworth, William of Southerly, and Baxter of Gladstone."

"Yes, Arthur."

Arthur opened his eyes. "They'll vote to kill you."

Merlin brightened, as though pleased that Arthur was keeping pace with the conversation. "Yes, that's they idea. They absolutely loathe me."

There was no denying that; of Uther's and now Arthur's council members, they were three of the most vocally disapproving of Merlin's…impudence with Arthur, and the way in which Arthur almost always allowed it. It was far too disrespectful for them, and King Uther would have never stood for it from his manservant. Although Uther seemed to change manservants every other week.

Arthur shook his head. "Merlin, if you want to get yourself killed, there are a lot of much simpler ways."

Merlin laughed, looking very proud of himself. "Arthur, I'm not going to die because of them."

"…What?"

"Arthur, after they vote to kill me, you can think. You were always best when you had someone to fight against, when there was something that was there for you to look at and touch and feel when you make a choice. The council's decision can give you that. They're your advisors, not your decision-makers. When you choose to have me killed, it shows that you respect the council of the men who had served your father before you, and then choose the method of my execution in your own manner, showing that you welcome the suggestions of others but retain the power of choice with yourself only."

Arthur gave an involuntary shudder to hear the ease with which Merlin talked of his own potential execution; it was as though his being killed was just one insignificant and unavoidable part of a larger plan, that merited mentioning only as it was involved with more important matters. Did Merlin really think so little of himself when it came to his own death? Or did Merlin really think that Arthur would think so little of him when it came to his death?

"'When' I choose to have you killed, Merlin?"

"If, when, whatever. It doesn't matter. Don't you see, Arthur? Don't you see how this will solidify your standing in Camelot? The people love you for the way that you love them, your enemies respect you for your wisdom and skill on the battlefield, your men would die for you as you would die for them, but the advisors? They still see you in the shadows of your father. Uther is still very much alive to them, Arthur, and you can show them that you see and respect that he led a prosperous nation with relatively little turmoil, but that you are also your own man who follows his own heart and instincts in his application of the advice of others. Don't you see? Everything could fall into place with this. All that you have to do is to assemble those council members."

Arthur felt hollow, as though his insides had been scooped out, bit-by-bit, by each of the words that had spilled from Merlin's mouth. "And all that you have to do is die."

Merlin beamed, and Arthur was too horrified to be offended at just how much Merlin seemed to be enjoying the ease with which Arthur was grasping his words. Merlin either did not notice Arthur's alarm or chose to willfully ignore it. He was so curiously insistent on this plan, Arthur almost had to wonder if he either wasn't understanding or if there were some ulterior motives at work.

There didn't seem to be; Merlin did not look like a man engaging in subterfuge. He was too…excitable. "Exactly. And let's face it, Arthur, it's not exactly a leap. I mean, legally, my sentence was set in stone the moment that I set foot in Camelot."

"All you have to do is die."

"All that I have to do is die."

"And you're just…okay with this?" Arthur had to be clear. "I understand that you've always known that you could face execution for sorcery and that you've had plenty of time in this snug little home away from home of yours to ponder your own damn mortality, but you can't want…Merlin, I can't even believe that you came up with this!"

"Can't believe because of how it would affect me or can't believe because you know that this would work perfectly and you're still having trouble processing the whole intelligence part of my deception? I have my reasons, Arthur, and you'll see them eventually," Merlin said, his final sentence so quietly that Arthur did not process it.

"Can't believe it, Merlin, because I have known you for so long, and you've never…" Arthur trailed off, losing his words at the look of determination on Merlin's face. "So you really expect to die because of this."

"Well, not necessarily. They could always vote to let me live."

"Uh-huh." Not those three council members.

"And honestly, Arthur, I've always kind of expected to die because of this. I do live in Camelot."

And thus did Arthur's heart break all over again.

When he could speak again, he asked in a thick voice, feeling almost shy, as though he was speaking with too much familiarity to a man who he did not truly know, "Merlin, for the love of…oh, Merlin! Why couldn't you have just gone with your old standby? You know, give me a meaningful look and an enigmatic smile and tell me that I already know in my heart what I need to do?"

Merlin laughed, almost pityingly, with a hint of fondness and no trace of discomfort in his voice. "Because, Arthur, I didn't think that you did know in your heart what to do."

"And you think that I do now?"

Merlin bit his lip. "I think…I think it's like I said before. You fight best when you know your enemy. You choose wisest when you see your options. You just…sometimes need help with that, with getting there. I think that even if right at this instant you don't know what you know that you should do, that you're ready to do what it takes to do the right thing. You can end it, here and now, if you can just make up your mind about magic—"

"Magic? Magic? The problem isn't magic, anymore, Merlin! This problem is you."

Merlin seemed taken aback by this, and Arthur realized that he had forgotten to mention to Merlin the little detail that he was working on possibly repealing the ban on magic.

Oops.

But Arthur couldn't talk about it right now; talk of state did not seem possible when he could only think of how he could possibly deal with the Merlin situation. Without another word, he turned to leave.

As had become his custom as the conclusion of their little prison visits, Merlin called after him. Arthur wasn't sure what he expected. A plea for information about the magic repeal? A request for news of the world above? An apology for…anything?

Merlin's voice was carefully controlled and very soft. "Arthur? Thank you for the food."

Arthur, about to sweep his way out of the dungeon corridor, looked back over his shoulder without turning entirely around.

"You're welcome, Merlin."

And he left.

By the time that Arthur, made it back to his chambers, night had long fallen, and his mind was far too tired from all of its earlier reeling that his thoughts as he lay in bed were merely exhausted rehashes of how he had spent his evening.

Was he weak if he did just as Merlin suggested? If he called the council? Not only would he be relying on others to make his decision, he'd be doing so based on the suggestion of another person. Did his taking what others did and said make him spineless, make him unworthy as king, make him weak?

Or did it make him strong?

Sitting up in his bed, his brain very suddenly very awake, he summoned his manservant.

This was actually a very simple task to accomplish; the young man slept in Arthur's antechamber as personal servants are meant to do, and all that Arthur had to do was shout "Manservant!" at the top of his lungs, and the boy would come running in as though the fate of the kingdom rested on the speed with which he attended to his king.

Arthur maybe had something to do with giving this impression.

The boy ran to Arthur as quickly as it seemed his legs would carry him and stopped so suddenly at the respectable distance away that he swayed on his feet and nearly toppled over from his own terrified momentum.

Arthur rolled his eyes and sent the boy to direct messengers to the homes of certain of his council members, specifically Lionel of Maxworth, William of Southerly, and Baxter of Gladstone, directing him to use as much haste as his bony little body could produce.

But first, Arthur asked the boy his name.

.

.


	17. Decisions And The Dusk

V/VII

.

Ever since his coronation, Arthur had found that being king was far more complicated than he'd imagined. It wasn't the duties; he'd been acting as regent for his father for over a year before he was killed. It was the way in which being king was not the same as just being king.

Being king was…extra. Arthur was still the warrior who went on the occasional excursion through the forest, whether for the destruction of a dragon's egg or for the rescuing of a medical convoy. He was still the knight who had to joust and battle in the tournaments that it was now his job to organize. He was still the prince who had to walk about the town and see with his own eyes the state of the kingdom, although those were not duties that he minded in the least. He was still the stubborn man so set in his ways that, even after ascending to the throne and taking a wife, he refused to vacate his prince's chambers and instead initiate renovations to provide Guinevere with adjacent rooms, his father's previous bedchambers becoming a rather spacious study and nap-room for Arthur.

He still filled all of those roles; but now he was also king. Which meant administration and organization and budgeting and receiving diplomats and sending diplomats and making the immensely difficult decisions that he'd had the liberty as prince to voice his opposition against.

He didn't have to do that every day; most days, he could still be the man that he was before his coronation. Most days, he could enjoy his place and power in the kingdom, identifying with and interacting with his people, taking jaunts on horseback, hunting, jousting. Most days he could still do the things that Uther had abandoned as he aged and, in Arthur's opinion, became a far less friendly king for it. No, Arthur liked balance, and balance meant not being just the king on every single day.

But this was a day for being king.

Arthur sighed as he watched the five men and their servants file respectfully into Uther's previous chambers. Arthur had converted his occasional study and far more frequent nap-room into a provisional council chamber, the official one still being somewhat disarrayed since the destruction that had started this whole mess. The renovations were going well, and Arthur and Guinevere had started to take occasional meals at the long table once more. But Arthur felt that this was not a meeting that should take place in a room that had been absolutely destroyed by magic. It didn't matter that Merlin hadn't been the one who had been trying to tear down the roof; magic was magic, and Arthur didn't feel that holding this meeting at the site of a magic attack would do Merlin any favors.

Not that Arthur was biased.

Of course, he had been somewhat…careful in his selection of the council members who would vote on Merlin's fate: execute or punish.

He'd gone with Merlin's suggestion of the three council members would most oppose Merlin's survival. Lionel of Maxworth, William of Southerly, and Baxter of Gladstone had arrived staggeringly over the last few days, each with barely concealed expressions of glee under their respectful bows. This was Merlin's party; if he wanted three men who hated him to vote on the matter of his right to live or die, then that's what Merlin would get. He had stacked his own decks against him.

Never one to do exactly what Merlin suggested unless there were no other options, Arthur had chosen to stack his own portion of the decks in Merlin's favor. It was certainly not because Arthur was hoping that Merlin would be given leniency in the vote; no, that was absurd. Absolutely absurd. But as always, Arthur's belief in the fairness of balance led him to select as the remaining two voting council members two men who had proved more…sympathetic with Merlin in the past.

Possessing a knowledge of basic math, Arthur knew that his two men would not overrule Merlin's three, but he wanted Merlin to at least put up a good showing. Unanimous condemnation was no way to send a man so well-intentioned as Merlin to his death, and Malcolm of Locksley and Edward of Knighton had proved to be among the most…indulgent of the prominence of Merlin in Arthur's life. Yes, Arthur would let Merlin go down with a fight, even if it was of the diplomatic sort.

Not that he would tell Merlin that. As far as Merlin knew, Arthur was just in a particularly generous, if cryptic, mood that day. Arthur had taken it upon himself to give Merlin one last visit before the afternoon's meeting, and Arthur had been replaying it in his head over and over again as his five visitors seemed to have taken Arthur's silence as a blessing to begin their debate over Merlin's fate. Arthur didn't try to interfere; he didn't care about anything in this meeting except the end. So he played the final interaction in his mind once more…

.

Arthur had walked into the dungeons and dismissed the guards before they had even had time to straighten their backs after their bows at his entrance. Arthur didn't have the time or patience for pleasantries that morning. Not when he was so preoccupied with thoughts of the afternoon.

He walked down the corridor to Merlin's cell, to whence he had not been for several days, thrust a dish through the bars, and said without prelude, "I brought food."

Merlin nodded, showing an admirable lack of reaction to the king's abrupt entrance. Had Arthur not known Merlin so well for so long, he doubted that he would have been able to see the desperation and loneliness that lingered below the carefully-assembled expression of utter disdain on the sorcerer's face. "It seems that you did. Did you come here just to tell me that? If so, well done. Mission accomplished."

Arthur shook his head hurriedly. "No. I need to ask you something."

"Of course you do."

Arthur bit down his retort. Merlin had been left alone down here for a long time, and it no doubt seemed that Arthur only came down to see him when he needed something. It was understandable if Merlin wasn't feeling his most polite. Arthur could excuse some petulance.

"Just…take the food, will you?"

Arthur was beginning to feel like he was paying Merlin for advice with food. It was not a good feeling.

Merlin stood up from where he had been sulking in the corner below his tiny window and view to the outside world and came closer to the bars to take the covered dish from the king's hands. Arthur surprised that Merlin had relented so quickly; Merlin must have been hungrier or more curious than Arthur had predicted.

Or just very bored and very very lonely.

This was also not a good feeling.

Merlin weighed the dish in his hands.

"What is it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Does it matter?"

Merlin mockingly rolled his own eyes back. "That depends. How sincerely do you want me to answer your question?"

Arthur shook his head. "This is ridiculous. Just uncover the dish if you're so curious."

Merlin knitted his brow and gazed knowingly at Arthur. "You don't know what you brought me, do you?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Not exactly, but I did tell the cook to get something special together."

"Which cook?"

Of course Merlin would ask that.

"John."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm getting food from your personal cook? This is food meant for a king…literally food meant for a king. Even the cold leftovers that you leave from John are still ridiculously delicious. This must be a hell of a question that you have for me."

The little thief! Arthur had always known that Merlin stole his leftovers before he was done with them! If he wasn't already in jail, Arthur would throw him in so fast that his head would spin!

Or maybe he should table that idea for now. Weighing the two issues quickly in his mind, he decided that Merlin's food snagging could be saved for after the vote that determined his life or death.

"It is. And I don't have much time, so if we could just cut the small talk, I'd really appreciate it."

Merlin shrugged. "Whatever you say, sire. What do you need to know this time?"

He sounded so tired, and Arthur was glad that, whatever the outcome, Merlin would finally know for sure what was going to happen to him after today. It must have been so frustrating, for it to have been so easy for him to escape, but bound by his word to stay…

Arthur took a deep breath. "I don't need to know anything. I'm here to ask you to do something for me."

Merlin looked interested. "Is it to tell you whether or not wearing your crown more often is making your hairline recede? Because I'll tell you, it absolutely is."

Arthur's hand unwillingly jumped to his scalp and he felt his face manage to somehow become more worried than it had been. He struggled to maintain his countenance. He didn't want to alarm Merlin, and if he wore his worrying-face for too long, he might start to get wrinkles.

"Merlin."

"Sorry, sire. Carry on."

Arthur had spent the past hour trying to figure out how he was going to make his request of Merlin. He'd decided on slowly and deeply, hoping to impress on Merlin the seriousness of the matter.

His voice had other plans, apparently, and Arthur heard his words coming flying out of his mouth at speeds he'd thought only Merlin capable of.

"I'm here to ask that whatever happens, you just…don't think too differently of me."

Merlin looked surprised; hoping that it was at the subject matter rather than the undignified way in which he had articulated it, Arthur hastily continued.

"Not what you think of me as King Arthur. How you think of me as…Arthur. I know that there's really no separating them anymore, but you always seemed to be able to treat me as Arthur far better than you did me as king. Certainly with regard to respect and courtesy."

Merlin's look of surprise did not recede; Arthur was forced to surmise that he was, in fact, more taken aback by what Arthur was asking of him.

Which was vaguely insulting.

"What, that shocks you?"

Merlin made a sort of circling motion with his head, as though he had begun to nod but then thought better of it and tried to pull out too late. "Sort of. I've kind of had the impression over the past few weeks that you haven't thought that I thought too much of you. My secret-keeping and all. Why do you hope that I keep my opinion of you as it is? From your point of view, I'm not sure that I understand."

"Why? Two reasons. Because, Merlin, whatever else that you've done, whatever lies and crimes and magic and secrets, you have still served me well. And I am still alive, which I do believe is largely thanks to you."

Merlin nodded. "And?"

Arthur locked Merlin's gaze with his own. "And, Merlin, because I think that you're playing me like a drum right now, and you can't do that to someone that you don't truly know."

If Merlin had looked surprised before, it was nothing compared to his expression then. "Do you really think that I'm pulling the strings on this?"

"After everything else I've found out about you? It wouldn't surprise me. And…and I want you to be."

Arthur expected Merlin to ask him what he meant, and braced himself. That would be difficult to explain.

It was therefore his turn to be surprised when he heard Merlin's response.

"You want whatever happens to be my fault."

Arthur snorted. "No, whatever happens will be your fault."

Merlin smiled, a little sadly, and amended his statement. "You want whatever happens to be what I want to happen."

Arthur's laugh faded from his face as quickly as though it had never been there at all. "I want…I wanted for whatever happens to be what you planned. To happen as part of a bigger picture rather than to happen as result of a stupid little mistake that you made on one unlucky day. Will it, Merlin?"

Merlin's voice was as serious and respectful as it had ever been when he answered. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Arthur shook his head, suddenly realizing that he really, really didn't. "No. Eat your food before it gets cold."

Merlin nodded, sat down on his stool and pulled a little bench that Arthur had not noticed before closer to him, straightening the tablecloth before uncovering the meal and raising his eyebrows in approval. He reached below the makeshift table and unrolled a napkin embroidered with the royal insignia to place on his lap. Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin was just showing off.

Arthur nodded curtly, becoming King once more. "I must go. Enjoy your food."

"Thank you again, Arthur," Merlin said. "For the food."

"Of course."

Arthur turned to leave and began to head out, signaling to the hovering guards that they were free to return to their posts. Then he heard Merlin's voice calling after him. He wasn't surprised; this was apparently just the way that Merlin handled life in the dungeons. Why he couldn't just say what he needed to say while Arthur was in front of him rather than waiting to yell dramatically down the corridor was beyond Arthur's comprehension.

"Arthur?" His voice was more tentative and polite than it had been in his previous callings-after. Although those yells would have hardly been difficult to top in courtesy.

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Isn't the vote today?"

Arthur didn't answer, glad that he hadn't turned around to hear Merlin's question and could therefore hide his face. He was well aware that he was being just as dramatic as Merlin, but Merlin had started it. It was his own fault. And Arthur knew that his lack of response would tell Merlin all that he needed to know.

It was only as Arthur reached the anteroom adjacent to the dungeon's exit that he realized that Merlin had never answered his question.

.

There was a sudden silence, and Arthur blinked very rapidly. It taken him a few moments to realize that the absolute quiet that surrounded him was not of the memory of the ringing in his ears following his visit with Merlin, but of actual silence in the council chambers. He saw his five advisors staring at him expectantly, and even some of the servants seemed to be sneaking curious glances his way.

Arthur cleared his throat. The discussion and debate were apparently over. Arthur had been so absorbed in his memory that he had missed all of it.

Which was fine with him. He didn't want to have to hear all of the things that were being said about Merlin. The slights on his character would have made him want to intervene on Merlin's behalf, and the defenses, no matter how few and far between, would have affected Arthur more emotionally than he would have wanted to show in front of his subjects.

Putting on his most regal airs, Arthur stood and said the necessaries to the advisors, glad that he had rehearsed this meeting so thoroughly with a frightened Guinevere prior to the assembly.

He hadn't had the heart to tell her that its result was a foregone conclusion, choosing to let her hope for at least a little while longer. He wasn't sure if that was being kind or cruel to her. The lines between selfishness and selflessness seemed so blurred these days…

Arthur signaled to his own servants to provide parchment, quills, and bottles of ink to the seated advisors. He realized that this was hardly the most efficient method of gathering their votes, but he did not want to have to go through the attempts at keeping a straight face if each man were to proclaim aloud one after another his decision before them all.

Besides, he was king. Uther had told him once that it was important for a king to make an irrational demand or two every once in a while, just to remind everyone who was in charge.

So voting by parchment it was.

Arthur waited patiently and regally at the head of the table that had been squeezed into Uther's chambers. It was of course smaller than the council table that was more or less crumbling in its chambers, but Arthur had insisted on bringing in the largest table that could possibly fit; this way, Arthur was able to remain a respectful distance away from the other men seated along its edges.

He had decreed that the votes be handed to him one-by-one. He had felt very silly making this demand at the beginning of the debate before he'd faded out to stew in flashback, but now he was glad.

The first vote was taken from Lionel of Maxworth by a servant, who bowed to Lionel, walked the eight feet that led to Arthur, bowed again, and handed the slip to the king, who very barely avoided rolling his eyes. This ceremonial passage of items felt ridiculous when they were in the full council chambers, seated around the extensive length of the properly assembled table; now, Arthur was just glad that none of his knights were there to see.

Arthur snatched the slip away from the servant, then immediately regretted it, seeing the frightened and mortified look on the boy's face. It wasn't the boy's fault…if anything, it was Arthur's. This was his court. Maybe he should add "ceremonial passage of items" to the growing list of customs that needed amendment.

Arthur didn't have any trouble maintaining his straight face as he unrolled the parchment and read the single word that had been written up on it. Execute. He was far from surprised. He had known as well as Merlin what Lionel of Maxworth was going to recommend. Arthur only wished that he could truly understand why.

Maybe he could. After all, Arthur had spent far more time with Merlin over the years than anyone else, even Gaius. If anyone could come up with a reason for Merlin to deserve to die, it ought to be Arthur.

.

It had happened only a year or so ago. Merlin had gone to spend two days in the tavern. Two days! Arthur could understand if Merlin had needed some time to wind down after his near death experience, no matter how quickly he'd managed to heal alone in the woods. As a physician in training, Merlin should have known better to do so much drinking! Granted, Arthur had never even heard of the cure for mace-wounds to the chest being immersion in mud and bog water, and his medical knowledge was negligible at best, but even he knew that for a man to be drinking off and on for 48 straight hours after a serious injury when he weighed approximately eighty-seven pounds soaking wet was not the best idea.

Arthur could have looked past this. He could have, easily. He'd let far more grievous offenses go by without a second thought when it came to Merlin—accidents seemed to follow him around like a shadow. Demanding as a master he may have been, but Arthur had been shaken to the core by the loss and apparent death of Merlin, no matter how brief it had been. He would have given Merlin the time off for recovery, mental or physical.

But Merlin himself had insisted on coming back to work, that he didn't need rest. Quite adamantly, actually. So Arthur hadn't asked for the help of another servant, and while Merlin was lollygagging about, drinking and abandoning Arthur to unintentionally expose himself to his future wife and court physician, mysterious assassins were planting crossbows in his wardrobe!

Granted, it was a very poor assassin indeed who would not only fail utterly in his attempt on his target's life but also leave his weapon behind as evidence in such an obvious place, but the principle remained the same. Merlin's shirking of duties over those few days could have resulted in Arthur's death, leaving Camelot leaderless, heirless, and even legally vulnerable to Morgana's seizure of the thrown, her blood relation to the royal family being public knowledge by that point. Illegitimate or not, hers was Pendragon blood.

Yes, perhaps Camelot could be better off without Merlin.

.

Arthur shook himself out of his reverie. There was another servant at his side with another slip of parchment. He took it, nodded respectfully at Lionel of Maxworth, showing that he understood and noted his opinion.

He looked at the servant who had handed him this next vote. He recognized him as the serving boy of Malcolm of Locksley. One of the men whom Arthur had chosen.

He unrolled it and read the single word written in neat script. Punish.

Take that, death-wish Merlin! As if Arthur was going to just let him die, undefended…no, not after all of the things that Merlin had done that hadn't been wildly illegal…

.

It had been during Morgana's first usurpation of the throne.

Those few days had been filled with overwhelming displays of loyalty to Arthur, from men who chose to fight under his doomed banner for the sake of justice, no matter how unlikely were their odds of success. Yes, those were some of the darkest days of Arthur's life, but they had been brightened, so very much brightened by the loyalty he had been shown that day at that round table.

But none more so than Merlin, who also happened to be the only one of the young men whom he did not knight. But he was so very worthy of all that Arthur could conceivably bestow upon any man.

Merlin had stayed with a wounded Arthur in the castle, that very first night, even when all other allies were gone and fled, and they faced together and alone an immortal army. No matter how "ridiculously good" at magic that Merlin claimed to be, the fear on his face as they moved through the castle that night was not of the counterfeit variety; Merlin had been terrified and had no reason to remain at Arthur's weakened side. Arthur would have been no help in an attack, and going to spy on the council room had been all but suicidal…Arthur still wasn't sure how they'd escaped. He'd have to ask Merlin about that before he was…

What he did know for sure was that Merlin had been there with him. Arthur, poisoned and limping and irrational with pain and panic, had been supported by his servant in every way that a man can be supported. Merlin had even tempered his own shock and disbelief at the revelation of Morgana's paternity in order to first take care of Arthur and take charge of the situation. Merlin had been forced to deal with his own sense of dumbfounding alone, keeping the rest of them alive and gathering reinforcements as Arthur had sulked and healed. He'd have to thank Merlin for that before he was…

Magic or not, Merlin had saved him in more ways than one during that ordeal.

.

Arthur heard a sudden cough. It was not the sort of cough that hinted at any ailment, but the sort of cough that fools no one into thinking anything but the fact that he should be paying attention.

Ah.

Arthur realized, too late, that the beginnings of a smile had crept onto his face, just a slight turning up of the corners of his mouth. While none of the men in the room could possibly know what Arthur had been thinking of, a smile at a vote of punish rather than execute was hardly a display of unbias.

Arthur cleared his own throat and gestured for the next serving boy to approach with the next vote. This was William of Southerly's manservant, and Arthur prepared himself for what he would see.

It took little preparation. Arthur knew all about William, and William knew all about Merlin. There was little love lost between any of them.

Arthur uncrumpled the parchment that was brought to him. Count on William of Southerly to try to make his note behave difficultly.

And there it was. Execute.

William was watching Arthur closely, clearly hoping to startle and sadden some emotional response from him. Arthur just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He had expected nothing less; William was the only of his councilmen who was even near Arthur's age, and they tended to butt heads even more than Arthur did with those of the previous generation.

William would be all too thrilled to see Merlin's head lopped off or being burnt at the stake. But then, taking all things into account, Arthur himself shouldn't have been nearly as troubled as he was. His memory for Merlin's insufficiencies as a servant was just as accurate as William's.

.

It had happened when Arthur didn't even know that it was happening, although he should have been able to guess. Unconscious as he was, he probably knew in the back of head that somewhere and somehow Merlin was doing something contrary to what his job dictated of him. It was in their very first year as master and servant, and Arthur wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.

On one hand, since it was only one year in, Merlin's work ethic should not have yet had the chance to fade away into the total disregard for typical servant behavior, and he should have been at his post, working hard. On the other hand, while Arthur and Merlin had certainly been through a lot together at that point, they were not nearly as closely…bonded, as much as Arthur hated to admit it, as they would become, so it was perhaps understandable why Merlin would not have been tearing at his hair and beating his chest at Arthur's injury. Yet, no matter which way a person looked at it, Merlin should have been there.

Yes. When Arthur had been dying and then miraculously, if slowly, recovering from the bite of the Questing Beast, where had Merlin been? Apparently, something somewhere else was far more interesting and important than his prince and master lying on his deathbed.

Granted, at the time, Arthur wouldn't have known if it was Merlin or the ghost of his first horse that was mopping his brow, but when he woke to find out that the servant who had been left to tend and talk to him as he lay ailing had been Guinevere? He was grateful to her, yes, very grateful, but she should not have had to do it. She was Morgana's servant. No one even knew where Merlin was.

This was hardly the only time. What about when his father, Arthur's own father, had been lying, dying, wracked in pain, and Arthur had been half-mad with grief and doubt at his decision to employ the strange and previously shown to be unfriendly sorcerer to save his father's life, and Arthur had wanted Merlin by his side as the sorcerer cast his spells over Uther? Merlin was nowhere to be found. Even Gaius didn't know where to send him when Arthur had gone in search. Arthur's father was dying and Merlin couldn't even be there.

Oh.

Dragoon. The Great. With the familiar eyes and Merlin's absences every time that he appeared.

Arthur must have been tired. He knew this already. He'd worked it out himself. Of course Merlin was Dragoon.

The Great.

Arthur was beginning to wonder if he was just looking for reasons why Merlin could possibly deserve to not exist anymore, if he was just looking for excuses that would allow him a clear conscience, no matter what he did…

.

Arthur managed to bring himself out of his preoccupation before he had to be prompted by an advisor this time; the sudden recollection that Merlin was Dragoon the Great and how Arthur had seemed to be trying to forget had awakened him to his surroundings once more, fortunately just in time to take the scroll—neatly rolled, as Arthur hoped that William would notice, that child—that was brought to him by the manservant of Baxter of Gladstone, another one of the elderly gentlemen whom Merlin had chosen to kill him.

Arthur didn't even attempt to look particularly interested as he opened Baxter's parchment, ready to read the execute, nod politely at the gentleman, and try to think of another reason why Merlin should be killed.

Punish.

Did these men have no shame? Granted, Arthur didn't actually know how they had come to their individual decisions, having somewhat unwisely chosen to completely ignore their debates over Merlin's fate, but surely some of them could understand why they should at least reconsider the opinions that they'd already come with when they were summoned to-

Wait.

What?

Arthur actually did a quick, clumsy, and distinctly unkingly double-take at the writing on Baxter's parchment.

Punish.

Hmm.

Well, that was unexpected.

Arthur opened his mouth to ask, in what would certainly have been an unnecessarily loud voice, why Baxter had voted to punish when he had so often in the past vocalized and acted on his disapproval for Merlin's prominence in court, when he realized that, as he had not asked for explanations from any of the other three whose votes had already been counted, he could hardly do so now. King or not, there were some things that just could not be done.

He shut his mouth, resolved not to speak, but could not help but look to Baxter, who sat at the foot of the table and out of the ranges of vision of his four fellow counselors, all of whom had their focuses trained completely on the king.

Baxter gave a small smile of understanding, and for the first time since Arthur had known him, he saw Baxter the man, the father, the grandfather.

And then Arthur remembered.

.

Merlin had said it. He'd said that he'd made some "less than morally praiseworthy" choices in order to protect Arthur. Arthur had more or less brushed it aside; Merlin's world was small. His decisions, no matter how moral they were or were not, could hardly have had any significant influence over Arthur's life.

But that was the former Merlin, and his world had never existed in the simplicity that Arthur had always imagined. It was still so hard to remember that Merlin was so different…

Now, as Baxter made a decision, as a man with a family and friends, to spare someone who legally deserved death but ethically deserved life…he made the moral decision…and it had hit Arthur in a flash. He had grasped what Merlin had meant, he could see Merlin's invisible hand behind some of the most catastrophic events of the last six years of his life that had been so awful for so many but had been endurable for…him.

He had poisoned Morgana. Arthur had to credit Merlin for telling him this; Morgana may have been both gone and…evil, but to tell the king that he had attempted to murder his surrogate (and, unbeknownst to him at the time of the poisoning, legitimate) sister had taken some serious nerve, and Arthur had to commend Merlin for his actions. It had hurt to commend the young man for such dark actions, and Arthur did not know if he could have done what Merlin had done, but Merlin had said it, that he'd done it to save Camelot. Of course, when he'd told Arthur, he'd left out all of the parts that involved his own magic and dragons and such, but he had said that he'd done it to save Camelot.

But he hadn't, not really. Merlin had had the chance to do it, more than once, when the three of them were running about the castle, surrounded by a sick and sleeping Camelot. He and Morgana had even been alone without Arthur, and without Arthur to interfere and an unsuspecting Morgana, Merlin could have killed her easily enough. Yet it was not until Arthur was in the midst of a suicidal battle with the conjured and unkillable knights that Merlin had taken his so drastic action.

Merlin had not done it for Camelot. He'd done it to save Arthur, even if it destroyed a little piece of himself to do so. Morgana had been his friend…

And then…

Merlin had watched his own father killed before his eyes, another fact that he neglected to mention to Arthur until weeks later, who then completely regretted his words of reprimand for Merlin's tears. But Merlin hadn't told him, because he didn't want to put Arthur in the position of choosing between protecting his servant as the son of a Dragon Lord and serving Uther honestly. Then, reeling from his father's death, Merlin had gone to face the dragon with him, in what was little more than a suicide charge. He had magic, yes, but he could have died. Hadn't Arthur heard stories of countless sorcerers being killed by dragons if they lacked the ability to speak to them? Hell, hadn't he seen dozens of sorcerers burnt at the stake? They were clearly as flammable as any man. Merlin was no safer than any of the knights who had ridden out with him, and he hadn't even had armor.

Uther hadn't even wanted Arthur to go…and Merlin had gone with him.

And come back alive.

How many more? How many other times had Merlin given up concern about himself—body or soul—for the insane and irrational protection of Arthur's?

.

Good old Baxter.

Arthur hadn't even wanted to summon him, and now Baxter had cast a vote in Merlin's favor and helped Arthur to realize more about Merlin's character than Merlin would have ever told him. And Merlin had thought that Baxter would help to kill him!

Arthur would have to rub that into Merlin's face. And maybe, just maybe…if Baxter could see what was there under the glowing eyes and levitating objects and walls of fire…maybe things would not turn out the way that Merlin had intended.

Take that, Merlin. Now the odds were even: two in favor of execution, two in favor of…alternate punishment. Only Edward of Knighton was left. Good old Edward of Knighton. Oh, Merlin was going to be mad!

He had never been happier that Merlin was wrong. In fact, since the beginning of this meeting, Arthur found that he had never been happier or more proud of Merlin than he had been at any point since they had known each other. Yes, he had made some foolish and irresponsible decisions, but all of the things that Merlin had done for him were so much more…

Very suddenly, Arthur put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, not caring that the five councilors were probably exchanging looks of alarm and triumph with one another, just gesturing at the approaching servant to put the final vote on the table in front of him. Arthur couldn't care. He didn't want to open that note. Edward of Knighton had always seemed a friend of Merlin's, yes, but he didn't want to open that note. It would seem so final.

He peeked up through his arms, and he saw that the five advisors were indeed looking alarmed, clearly not understanding what had changed for their previously calm king a moment ago. How could they? He had just realized himself what had made him happiest and proudest of Merlin over their years together, and that was not something that anyone else could possibly understand.

Merlin had always, always, managed to come back alive.

How the hell was Arthur going to do this?

After a few more moments, Arthur straightened his back, rubbed his eyes furiously, and faced the five men who sat, watching him anxiously and (in William's case) mockingly, shoulders broad and crown straight; Arthur was king again.

With a nod of thanks at the boy who had delivered the final note, and a glance of monarchial dignity at Edward of Knighton, always such a friend, Arthur picked up the vote and carefully, so very carefully, read it.

And then he saw it.

After a few moments of staring at the slip of parchment, Arthur looked around at the five men whom he had summoned to court to take away from him a decision that would, no matter which way it went, would destroy a small part of him and alter his life forever. He nodded to each; whether he agreed with their votes or not, he had to appreciate what they had come to do for him and to stop him from having to do. He realized why Uther had kept his council so static for so long.

Arthur dismissed them.

They filed out, one by one, glancing back and pulling their attendants along behind them. Arthur gave them all a final nod as the last and clumsiest of the servants pulled the door shut behind him with a loud band, leaving Arthur alone in Uther's chambers.

And Arthur smiled.

Merlin was right…why did Merlin have to be right? He missed the days when Merlin was always wrong because Arthur said that he was wrong and that Merlin was just an idiot import peasant who got stuck as Arthur's servant, ruining both of their lives.

But he knew that those days had to be gone, because Camelot had to enter into a new age.

His grin grew wider and wider, so that any onlooker, had they given him a passing glance, would have merely thought him happy. But Arthur was king; no glances in his direction were ever passing. So while his smile may have marked him as the most cheerful man in the kingdom, the cold, ironic, calculating expression in his eyes would have cured them of that notion almost immediately.

Yet it could not be argued that Arthur was not happy. He was…thrilled. He was absolutely awake and the ringing in his ears was nothing but an aftereffect of the absolute clarity with which he saw what needed to happen. It was all falling into place, piece by piece by piece, and it was only now that Arthur recognized that both he and Merlin were just…pieces, the same as everyone and everything else implicated in this matter. When he saw their own insignificance as anything beyond catalysts, he saw…and he knew. Everything fit. And everything was disposable.

Yes, Arthur knew what he had to do.

And he knew how he was going to do it. After all, hadn't that been what Merlin had said? The council members could advise him on how to run his kingdom, but the details were Arthur's. They were all falling into place, the how, the why, the where, the what…hell, even the when was simplicity itself.

He lay his head back down on the table that had been so forcefully dragged into Uther's former chambers where Arthur liked to take his naps, almost hearing himself as whispers traveled throughout the castle and down into the lower town; news shared by the servants who had been attending the men in the vote; probably even the councilors themselves, spreading word of what had transpired from the vote that afternoon.

Merlin was to be killed.

Yes, Arthur knew exactly what he was going to do.


	18. In Which The End Began

VI/VII

.

Merlin was to die.

It was the talk of the town.

Arthur hoped that Merlin didn't know how expansive a topic his execution was turning out to be. It was bad enough that he was planning to martyr himself; Arthur didn't want him to go into it with an inflated ego.

Arthur was willing to acknowledge that it was partly his own fault that the subject of Merlin's impending death was so popular. He hadn't made any official announcement on the results of the advisors' vote, and gossip was always far more interesting to pass on than official decrees. So he had let the rumors fly throughout his people unchecked.

It had taken the servants of the advisors approximately four and a half minutes to start spreading the word. The vote had been close, but definite. Three in favor of Merlin's death.

This was actually part of why Arthur had permitted the advisors to bring their servants into the meeting with them. Usually, servants would have been banned from coming within two corridors of assemblies that involved serious matters of state, but Arthur wanted them there. After all, there was no guarantee that the advisors themselves would spread the news throughout the castle and lower town before returning to their own estates. From the moment that he'd decided to follow Merlin's advice and call the five members of the council together, Arthur had had self-awareness enough to know that, whatever happened, he was not going to be in the mood to be making any public proclamations about Merlin's fate.

So gossip it was. From the way that he received either dirty looks or nods of appreciation from the townspeople as he walked amongst them each morning, as was his custom, Arthur surmised that there were few who did not know what had happened.

Loosely-tongued servants. They were better than town-criers.

For the first time since Merlin had thrown a table into the sorceress, who had been all but forgotten in the aftermath of how she had been defeated, Arthur was glad that Merlin was perhaps the most high profile of servants in the kingdom. The news of the looming death of any servant of lesser importance would have taken far more time to pass from person to person, and most likely would have been far less of a topic of interest. By the third morning after the vote, Arthur was convinced that everyone in Camelot knew what had happened during that top-secret meeting in the former king's chambers.

Which almost certainly included Merlin.

Hell, based on what Arthur had been able to gather from Merlin's increasing property within his cell, Merlin had probably heard the results of the vote before the men guarding him had even known that the meeting had ended.

For the first time since Merlin had thrown that table into that sorceress, Arthur was glad that Merlin was so well-connected in the dungeons. It somewhat assuaged his guilt at his failure to visit the young man, almost certainly positive of the doom that awaited him.

Yes, Merlin was to be killed, and everyone knew it.

He hoped that Merlin wouldn't be too upset that Arthur hadn't come down to see him since the verdict. He assumed that Merlin would be calling him everything from a clotpole to a coward—both of which he acknowledged were fairly accurate, from what he understood of "clotpole" and from the impression that Merlin would have been getting by Arthur's absence—with more and more frequency the longer that he stayed away, but surely Merlin could understand. Surely Merlin would have been able to guess why Arthur would not come; hadn't Arthur made it clear enough on previous visits that he didn't necessarily want to execute him. Perhaps Arthur's refusal to come would simply seem like sorrow or guilt.

Arthur imagined that Merlin was hoping for an official announcement. Not that he probably doubted the veracity of word of whoever had been caring so much about him to sneak him duvets and feather pillows, but that a proclamation from Arthur would at least let him know the method of execution.

Arthur had been tempted to start a rumor about that. From the beginning, he'd known that if it came to executing Merlin, it would be done via beheading. The practice for sorcery as was established toward the end of Uther's reign had been the pyre, but Arthur would have spared Merlin that agony and given him the swiftness of a sharp blade and a hard block. It would have been the least that he could do, all things considered.

But Merlin wouldn't have had to know that. If Merlin thought that Arthur was still hung up on the fire room, which he totally wasn't, then Merlin would reap the rewards of his mockings when he was burned at his own stake. Arthur would see how funny Merlin thought the king's obsession with fire after that!

Arthur did not start that rumor. That was one act of vengeance to which he would not subject Merlin. Fire room or not, whenever Merlin had been replaying his death at the hands of Uther, and now Arthur, he would almost certainly have been doing it by burning. Just as Arthur would have allowed him the kindness of a beheading, he did not possess nearly enough cruelty in his body to allow Merlin's greatest nightmares over his six and a half years in Camelot to come true.

Although that probably was what Merlin was imagining as he sat, verdict spreading throughout the town, alone and guilty in his jail cell. All of the duvets and feather pillows in the world probably could not soften that blow. So many sorcerers had been burnt in recent years; if Merlin was to be executed just as they had been executed, wouldn't he assume that the manner in which he met his ultimate death would be the same?

Perhaps it was time for Arthur to go to see Merlin.

According to Guinevere, the time for Arthur to go see Merlin was long past. As far as she knew, Arthur figured that she was right. But even if he had tried, there was no way that he could truly explain to her how he was feeling and what he was planning and why and how he was planning it. He told her what he could, but did not even bother touching on the details. Despite the public nature of everything that was happening, the whole ordeal felt oddly…private between Merlin and himself. As though they were the only two players in a game whose conclusion affected everyone.

Yes, it was time for Arthur to go to see Merlin.

He didn't take food this time; he figured that all of the delicacies in the castle wouldn't have been sufficient to make Merlin particularly amenable at that time, and he did not want to give anything to Merlin that could be thrown back at him. Certainly no cutlery. He trusted Merlin to keep his word and not use magic on him at first sight, but he was not so sure that Merlin wouldn't try to vent some anger in a manner that required no spells but very good aim.

He dismissed the guards with a gesture as soon as he entered the dungeons. They began to comply immediately, but very slowly, and shooting one another looks of hesitance and uncertainty. Arthur realized that they did not want to leave him alone with a condemned and angry Merlin.

He waved them off, hoping very much that he was correct and Merlin was not…disgruntled enough to do him any harm. His would be a very embarrassing funeral if he was killed after waving away the men employed for his protection. And by Merlin.

Arthur proceeded down the corridor to Merlin's cell, his pace the most measured that it had been in the dungeons since before Merlin's imprisonment. Decision-making really seemed to suit the health of Arthur's disposition. With a jolt of exhilaration that rivaled any that he had felt lately, he realized that the reduced stress that corresponded with his choice probably meant that his hairline was safe once more. As long as his hair was safe, everything else that he had been worrying about could recede away as soon as possible, as far as Arthur was considered.

Merlin. That's why he was there. He could look at his hair later. Especially now that he was certain that it would all be there.

He peered cautiously through the bars to Merlin's cell, squinting his eyes. The curtain was not down, but Merlin had done something to block the window with a fabric of some sort. It was not thick or dark enough to plunge the entire room into darkness, but the light that did manage to force its way in was of a dim, muffled sort that what suffocating to the senses. Arthur couldn't fathom why Merlin would have done that. If he had been told that he had little time left for this world, he'd probably spend most of his time gazing longingly out the window at the world of life and activity.

But then, Arthur hadn't been kept ill-fed in a dungeon for a month by a king for whose safety he had drawn just about every breath over the majority of a decade whilst having to do menial and uncomfortable tasks that he would have been able to do quickly and painlessly were he able to use his talents without running the risk of horribly agonizing execution.

So maybe their circumstances were slightly different. Empathy had never particularly been Arthur's strong point.

Arthur made a regal gesture of greeting in Merlin's direction, where the sorcerer lay in the corner of his cell underneath his blocked window. The covers on his cot looked as though they had been recently rumpled, and Arthur theorized that Merlin had only vacated it to sulk on the floor when he had heard Arthur approaching so as to look more pathetic and guilt-trippy to the king. It seemed a very Merlin thing to do. "Merlin."

Merlin didn't stand; he didn't even turn his head. "Arthur." He used the tone that he always used when he thought that Arthur was trying to act too snobbish and superior. He claimed that Arthur shouldn't get annoyed by the accent, since it sounded exactly the way that he spoke on a regular basis.

Arthur tried not to look annoyed and give Merlin the satisfaction, who anyhow looked as though he had larger issues on his mind than irritating Arthur. "Good morning."

Merlin glowered in Arthur's general direction, still not looking him in the eye. "Is it?"

Arthur shrugged. "Well, it's still early to tell, but it hasn't so far been a bad morning."

"Well, huzzah for you, your highness." Merlin's voice was flatter and more bored than Arthur had ever heard it. Which of course annoyed him.

"Honestly, are you going to be a misery this whole time that I'm down here? Has it occurred to you that maybe this is why I haven't come down more than a half dozen times over the last month? That maybe your company is somewhat lacking in appeal?"

Merlin did not deign to respond to this.

Arthur could not blame him.

He did, however, finally meet Arthur's gaze. Granted, it was only so that his eye-roll would have maximum effect, but Arthur felt that it was progress.

This was clearly going well.

He opened his mouth to begin the second stage of his plan for explaining what had been happened to Merlin when Merlin cut him off. So very rudely.

"Arthur, just cut out the nonsense, alright? I'm not particularly in the mood to work up the energy that it takes to point out the idiocy in the things that you say. Granted, it doesn't exactly take much energy to point out how stupid some of the things that you do are, but I'd rather not, all the same. So, say whatever you want to say and then…get out."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. Somebody was in a bad mood today! Why did he always have to grow more eloquent when he was grouchy? Arthur preferred to be insulted in a more juvenile fashion.

Merlin had just glared at him some more when Arthur had let out the whistle, so he decided to take the man's advice—again, damn it—and cut straight to why he had come.

Arthur cleared his throat. "So, I take it that you've, uh…that you've heard the news."

Merlin raised his own eyebrows in mock appreciation for Arthur's abilities to take the measure of a situation. "Yeah, Arthur. Yeah, I have."

Arthur nodded. Back to his plan.

"Well, then, you should know that I followed your recommendation for having the meeting of five councilmen. Well done. And as soon as I heard what they had to say, that you were to be killed for your many crimes…well, I knew that I had to come to see you. I take it that I was not the first."

Merlin stood up so startlingly quickly that Arthur could assume that it was only possible because he had so little mass to move about. It was the same reason that he had roughly the same upper body strength of a leprous child. Merlin strode over to the bars to stand in front of Arthur, only the iron gate separating them.

"No, you weren't. You were not the first one to come tell me, Arthur. Probably because the vote was three days ago."

Arthur nodded again, slowly, as though he was trying to understand the complexities of situation. "And you listened to…whatever person decided to share the news with you."

Merlin reverted to his plan of talking to Arthur like a fool. It always had been one of his favorites. "Yes, Arthur, I did, because I had no choice but to listen to the people—that's right, people, as in plural—who came to tell me because apparently you were too busy to take a five minute jaunt down to the dungeons on the way to one of your feasts."

Arthur smiled as enigmatically as he could manage. It was difficult to do when both he and Merlin believed completely in the things that they were saying. "You shouldn't have done that, Merlin."

"What, listen to informants? I hate to break it to you, Arthur, but I have had communication with people on the outside over this past month, just…once or twice, you know. Occasionally. Here, I'll give you a moment to absorb the shock. Do you need to sit down? I can lend you a chair, if you'd like. I do have two, you know."

Arthur was somewhat shocked by that. Most of the other creature comforts that Merlin had mysteriously acquired were small enough to have been passed through the bars. Even the cot could be folded up to be sufficiently narrow. Chairs, on the other hand…

But the chairs were not the point. Even if they were somewhat surprising. Maybe if he could take a look at the chairs, he could find a clue as to who they came from. Arthur didn't even particularly want to punish them; if he were in jail for a month, he'd want a place to sit as well. Honestly, he just wanted to know how the mystery donor had accomplished his task. Maybe if he made a decree that whoever had done it could come forward without fear of repercussion, then he could-

Enough with the chairs. Time to focus on Merlin. Who had a somewhat smug look on his face, as though he knew that he had managed to distract Arthur from the subject of executing his manservant with the fascinating details of chairs.

Merlin.

"Well, Merlin," said Arthur, not having to feign the annoyance in his voice at the distraction, no matter how truly compelling it was. "Excuse me for being surprised. I would have thought that you would know better than to listen to gossip. Hell, even when I thought that you weren't exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver, I would have thought that you'd prefer fact over rumor."

He saw Merlin grit his teeth, and he grinned. Good. Let him be annoyed.

"Arthur, I would have absolutely preferred fact. You know, like a decree or proclamation or something of the sort. I know that I wasn't available to write it for you, Arthur, but a general summing-up would have sufficed. Friends or not, I would have preferred to receive word from you than from them. After all, they all delivered the news with apology after apology. It wasn't their fault."

Arthur imagined that Merlin would have altered his tone if he'd known how petulant and childish he sounded.

It made Arthur very happy. How nice it was to so utterly have the upper hand now! He hoped that Merlin had a good memory for his absolute dominance of power during the past month, because it was gone for good. Arthur was in control again, and he had all the power in the situation that every king ought to have with an erring servant who knew himself to be doomed.

It made Arthur so happy—and yes, smug—that he could not help but allow a small smile to creep onto his face. Being on top was a fantastic place to be.

"Well, that just goes to show you, Merlin! You should never ever listen to gossip, no matter who it comes from."

Merlin rubbed his face with his hand, looking extremely exasperated and ashamed of himself for humoring Arthur like this. "Alright, Arthur. What do you mean by that?"

Arthur laughed edgily, and Merlin looked like he was seriously considering hitting him. Arthur could see his logic; after all, what could Arthur do? Double condemn him to death?

Arthur began speaking again before he had to avoid a punch. "I mean that rumors are not always what they seem, Merlin. No one heard me say anything."

"Would you please just say what you mean, Arthur? I have last thoughts to think here." Merlin began to turn, looking as though he was preparing to return to his place of sulking in the corner below his blocked window.

Arthur's next words stopped him before he'd even turned a quarter of the way to the back wall.

"I was bluffing."

Arthur could see only Merlin's face in profile, and even then, the general gloominess of the dim room shrouded his countenance in shadow of every sort. When he spoke, his words were very quiet and very steady.

"Bluffing how?"

Merlin's quiet solemnity wiped the smug mirth off of Arthur's face. "Bluffing as to what I was going to…allow to happen."

"Arthur."

"It was more of a silent bluff, really, since I never actually said anything. I just…didn't say anything and let the people think what they wanted." This was ridiculous. He was rambling like Merlin!

"Arthur."

"What?"

"Are you saying what I think that you're saying?"

"What do you think that I'm saying?"

"Arthur."

Arthur actually laughed; it was through no humor of any sort, but through an terrified acknowledgment that the tension that had existed between them with such dominance was about to be broken, absolutely shattered, and that he had no idea what was going to happen or who was going to say what or if and when everything would be okay again or how to do anything except jump in with both feet. "Come on, Merlin! Did you really think that I was going to kill you?"

There was a very long silence.

It was then that Merlin turned back to face Arthur, who took a few involuntary steps back. He had never seen that expression on anyone's face…such desperate apprehension and loaded curiosity. He could not begin to imagine what was going through Merlin's mind at that moment.

Arthur was therefore very surprised at the lightness of Merlin's voice when he finally responded; he had never seen such a contrast between countenance and tone before. His words were unconcerned and almost…dismissive. His eyes were as hollow and urgent as Arthur had ever seen them.

"Well, have me killed. I never once thought that you could actually do it yourself. Wait, are you serious?"

Arthur smiled again, very slightly and very genuinely. "Of course I am."

When he had played this moment over and over again in his head, Arthur had expected gratitude, a smile of immense relief and happiness to cross Merlin's face immediately. At the very least, the ridiculous seriousness in his eyes that had so taken aback the king would have faded into…contentment. Arthur had even prepared a magnanimous reply and everything.

He had not expected indignance. Merlin seemed absolutely…offended. "I cannot believe that you would—for three days? Arthur, that is a horrible joke to play on someone!"

Arthur shifted on his feet. "It was hardly a joke…"

Apparently, whether or not Arthur's actions fell under the "joke" rubric was not on Merlin's list of top priorities for discussion. "I cannot believe that you did this!"

"You did say before that you would forgive me anything."

"Forgive, yes, sire. Embrace happily? No! You realize that the entire castle believes that you're going to have me executed?"

Arthur nodded, for once able to be the one pleased that his counterpart was keeping up. "Yes, of course they do. They needed to believe it so that they would come and tell you and so then—"

Merlin cut him off, his voice going very high pitched. "You are a horrible, horrible person! There have been tears and tantrums and even more plans to break me out and…oh, I should have just let you die. That's exactly what I should have done. I should have let you die a long time ago. You know what, I should just blow up your head from hear. I've been practicing on rocks lately, and I've always thought that your head is about the same consistency and intelligence level of a rock. I'm gonna do it, right now, I'm gonna blow up your head. Come here and stand still, you sorry excuse for a king—"

Arthur grinned. He couldn't help it; this was a very endearing sight. Merlin had started his rant looking very serious and stern, but that smile of relief and pride had been creeping its way across his face, until he finally had to stop his tirade of insults so that he could laugh as well without choking on his words.

Arthur took a deep breath and put on as straight a face as he could. "You know, Merlin, it isn't my fault that you thought that you were going to die. I never actually made an announcement that I was going to have you killed."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, his smile once more a flat line on his face, but his eyes twinkling enough to belie his unfriendly stance. "You could have made an announcement that you weren't!"

"I sort of did."

Merlin cocked up a single eyebrow, an accomplishment that Arthur had never been able to achieve. He suspected that Merlin had learned it from Gaius. "Did you now?"

"Yes! I gave word that I was still considering the matter of the fate of that traitorous sorcerer who I had in my dungeons, but that as king, there were many other pressing issues that required my attention."

"What, were Uther's chambers desperately in need of a nap?"

"No, Merlin, I can't do that anymore, because your replacement is so damn competent that he's always where he's supposed to be. Namely, at my side, looking all innocent and expectant and like he would love nothing more than to go home and spread word that he'd spent the afternoon playing lookout for the king as he had a bit of sleep."

Merlin whistled. "Ooh, I spoiled you."

"You did!"

Merlin gave a little laugh under his breath, as though not sure if he should find it hilarious that Arthur was being deprived of his naps by an respectfully attentive servant or so very sad that he had been replaced. He then leaned forward on the bars of his cell door once more, as had become his signature pose of late. "If you're serious about not having me killed, if you really expect for me to believe you, then tell me why."

The little liar. He believed Arthur already! This was just his way of trying to pluck at Arthur's heartstrings until he started complied.

Although, why shouldn't Arthur explain himself? Merlin may as well know.

"Well, it's like you said the other day. I have to listen to and pay respect to the advisors. It's just…how things need to be done for now, and I need to not alienate all of them if I want the…somewhat radical changes that I plan on enacting to stick. I needed it to look like I was very seriously considering my options and considering their advice."

Merlin raised his other eyebrow to join the first on his brow. "But you weren't?"

Arthur shook his head, very seriously. "No. The minute that I read that final vote to execute you, I knew that I wasn't going to do it. I couldn't kill you. I realized that, while any decision that I made to keep you alive would have been biased, based on my…preexisting opinion of you, the same applied to them. They already disliked you for the small, stupid things that you always do, and when they voted to condemn you, they weren't doing it because you were a sorcerer. They were doing it because they already hated you. And I found that, when it comes to bias, it is better for a man to unfairly live than to unfairly die. You would have been killed because you were closer to me than any of the advisors, despite your status as a servant, and a rather poor one at that, and they found it inappropriate. You would have been killed because the advisors, coming from noble families, were placed side by side with that sorry excuse for a servant—stop pouting, you know that you were a miserable attendant—whose private contributions tended to sway me more than theirs in public. If they saw me take a few days and seemingly seriously consider killing you, they would have to logically accept my decision to spare you."

Merlin absorbed this for a few moments, and he gave a begrudging smile, as though he should not be amused but was, as always, determined to find something cheerful in everything.

"…and you're the king."

"And I'm the bloody king!"

Merlin shook his head. Arthur guessed that he was choosing to skip the opportunity to make fun of Arthur's ego in this instance. "Well, you could have told me during those three days! I think that it's been proven that I can keep a secret, Arthur. Instead, you leave me down here stewing in my own misery for three days. Three long days. Why the hell couldn't you have told me, at least?"

Arthur gave Merlin a bright smile and spoke through his teeth. "Call it revenge."

"Revenge? For what?"

Arthur just stared at him. It took Merlin a full thirty seconds to realize what Arthur was referring to.

"Ah. This."

"Yes. This."

Merlin gave Arthur a perky smile that he always seemed to think was his most ameliorating. "Maybe I'll just let this one slide."

"Good idea."

They stood in silence for a few moments. It was a comfortable silence; were it not for the bars that separated them, Arthur would have felt the same as he always did when waiting quietly with Merlin for something very important to happen. Ceremonies, coronations, weddings…there was always that brief moment before everything started to happen all at once, when Merlin would have been fixing Arthur's collar or Arthur would have been sheathing his ceremonial sword where they would just stand in silent awe of what was going to happen and of the peace of what was not happening just then, standing together. Servant and monarch, bonded in the rare partnership of a comfortable silence.

Then Merlin laughed again, his relief detectable in every breath. "You're really not going to have me killed?"

Arthur nodded good-naturedly. He could understand if Merlin needed it repeated a few times. "I'm really not."

Merlin clicked his tongue in reprimand. "Well, then you'd better hurry and make the announcement to the rest of the castle, because there was a certain someone around here earlier talking about a very elaborate escape plan that involved knocking me unconscious so that I would have no choice but to escape and would probably result in a damaged dungeon. I'm being forgiven right and left for all manner of things. From the reports that I've been getting, Sir Leon is about one guilt-trip away from burning his leg all over again just so that he could let me fix it. I've never been so popular. Letting no one know may not have been your wisest decision, Arthur."

Arthur cocked his head far to the side defensively. "Come on, give me a little credit. Guinevere knew, Gaius knew. I didn't have the heart to keep them in the dark about you being allowed to live. The details, yes. But they know that you're to live."

"Any of the knights? Gwaine?"

Arthur cocked his head back upright with such speed and rigidity that he thought that he heard something in his neck pop. Ignoring it, he responded to Merlin's absurd query.

"Gwaine? Are you joking? If I'd told Gwaine, everyone in the five kingdoms would have found out by sunset."

"Oh, give him a little credit, will you? He cares," said Merlin reprovingly. "And you'd better watch out, then, if he didn't know. He's going to kill you."

Arthur put his hands on his hips and assumed his mighty king stance. "I, Merlin, am the best warrior in all of Camelot. I do not fear a battle with any man."

Merlin mirrored his stance mockingly. "Yes, Arthur, but you're…honorable, through and through. You couldn't engage in legitimate trickery if your life depended on it. You're not even believable as a peasant when we go drinking undercover. Gwaine, on the hand is…Gwaine's crafty."

Arthur laughed, assuming that Merlin was joking. Of course he could defeat Gwaine in battle! And his skills of legitimate trickery were fantastic! Oh, Merlin. He laughed again, then forced himself to sober up. This next topic of conversation included news that should not be delivered with a smile. Merlin had to believe it and understand that this was absolutely the truth.

"I'll tell them, don't worry. Just…not yet. There was another reason that I let everyone believe that you were going to have your head chopped off."

"Other than your ridiculously cruel joke?"

"It was not a joke. But yes. Merlin, I wanted to be the one to deliver the news…the other news in person. I owed you at least that much."

Sensing Arthur's change in mood, Merlin nodded, sobering himself and gesturing for Arthur to continue.

"Merlin, I'm not going to have you executed. But I have to do something. I've been saying that for ages, you know, and that wasn't a bluff. I have to do…something."

Merlin waved Arthur's statement away, a dismissive look on his face. Arthur was somewhat offended at Merlin's quick acceptance of his words, but remembered that Merlin had had a month now to think about what Arthur would do. He'd probably come up with just about every scenario under the sun. "Well, I knew that, Arthur. I just want to hear you say the words."

Arthur wasn't sure what to make of that, but carried on, determined to have this conversation without stopping. It would be difficult enough without having to hash it out more than once. "You said yourself what my options were. Acquit, imprison, banish, execute."

Arthur was having a hard time getting this out; Merlin, seeming quite at ease for someone whose fate was being announced before him, began to interject in order to help to prompt the verdict out of the faltering king.

"Okay, so four options, with acquit and execute out of the equation. Two more, Arthur."

Arthur nodded, taking a deep breath. "Merlin, you should know that I had a very hard time with this. I wanted—I needed to be punitive, as king of this land. It is my job and responsibility to the people to uphold their laws. But I needed to be merciful and I needed to, if not reward, at least acknowledge all that you have done and given up for me over the years. And Merlin, I am not doing that as king. I am doing that as your…friend," Arthur almost choked on the word, and Merlin smiled. "And when I was trying to figure out how I could both recognize the ways in which I would absolutely not be here had you not been by my side, sorcerer or not, while trying to figure out how best to punish you for the rest of your life. Those are not two easy things to reconcile, Merlin. Then I realized that I wanted, more than anything, to ask you what you would do in this situation. You would know. You always knew. When I was ignoring the people in favor of the state, you were there to remind me that there was more to being king than wearing a crown and making decisions and swinging a sword, doing so no matter what I threatened you with. So I am asking you, Merlin. What is the kindest thing, the wisest thing, the thing fairest to everyone that I can do right now?"

Merlin's smile grew, and Arthur would have suspected that the sorcerer was laughing at him if he had not seen the brightness growing in his eyes that meant that he was heading toward some tears.

Arthur rolled his eyes and sniffed himself. This was one occasion in which he would not deride Merlin for being a man to quick to tear up; no, Arthur was just hoping against hope that Merlin would hold it together because he knew damn well that if Merlin started weeping that he would be soon to follow. This meeting had such a sense of finality to it…

Merlin looked up at him, tears fortunately not yet spilling over. His was a peculiar expression, almost…happy. But that wasn't it. Arthur couldn't place it; he had seen a whole myriad of emotions cross Merlin's goofy face over their years side by side, but this was one that he had never seen in such a…raw state. Maybe a flicker here and there, but it was so open and unabashed that Arthur could not help but feel a wave of affection wash over him. And why not? This was it, the finality…if there was any time to express any fondness to Merlin, this…this was it.

"What the hell is that stupid expression on your face? You look…happy."

Merlin gave a thick chuckle, and Arthur began to chant a mantra of Please don't cry, please don't cry in his head as Merlin spoke. "Well, I have to say that it is a good feeling to know that my own death isn't looming directly on the horizon, but I wouldn't say that I'm happy. Just…proud. Very proud."

Arthur raised his eyebrows as high as they could possibly go toward his completely intact hairline, the usual look of annoyance on his face that he was just beginning to realize was his general way of expressing affection to Merlin whenever one of them wasn't dying. He would have to consider how that was somewhat unhealthy at a later point. "Proud? Of who? I'm going to be honest with you, Merlin. Neither one of us is exactly coming out of this situation looking all that great."

Merlin shook his head, eyes still bright but cheeks still dry. Arthur kept chanting. "Proud of you. Of me. Of both of us together. I'm proud that you have become the king that I have always hoped that you would be, and I am proud that all that I worked for and gave up and gave into over the years have helped you to reach that point. And I am so very proud, Arthur, that you managed to go this final distance on your own. Honestly, as far as I'm concerned, this was just another successful quest. Arthur, I'm proud of us. I mean, look what we've done together!"

Arthur nodded and shook his head at the same time. It was very strange. Here was Merlin, demonstrating another one of his few moments of wisdom.

But they weren't few, were they? They were the real Merlin, the intelligent sorcerer Merlin, peeking through every once in a while and showing his face when Arthur most needed him. And Arthur realized that the real Merlin had been by his side all this time, and they had been as together as two people could ever be. Merlin was as he ever was, just now…more.

Then it struck him what was so different about how Merlin was speaking to and looking at him. He was treating Arthur as his…equal. There was no deference from one to the other now. Merlin no longer feared that Arthur was turning into the opposite of the king that he had so long striven for, and Arthur was no longer afraid of Merlin's powers and how their elemental existence was so infinitely stronger than those that Arthur had obtained by inheritance. This was a meeting of equals, and Arthur was glad.

Arthur blinked very rapidly. He had to stop thinking such thoughts, or he would be the one to start the crying. "So, Merlin, what is the best choice? I know that this may not be my kindest of moves, forcing you to decide what happens to you, but you do kind of deserve…anyway. What goes around comes around. Will you choose to stay locked in the dungeon, surrounded by those that you know and love and who will no doubt slip you all of the amenities available in the castle, protected and safe, but confined forever? Or will you choose to be free, but to never see again those whom you have grown to love unless you come across them in their travels or quests? Will you take imprisonment and family or freedom and isolation?"

Merlin smiled, very proudly and very sadly, and thought. Arthur got the impression that he was only doing so to humor Arthur, to look as though this was a difficult decision for him. But then, he had had this whole month that Arthur had abandoned him in the dungeons to think about what he would do…Arthur suddenly realized that just as he had left Merlin to rot for a month, whatever choice that Merlin made would be of Arthur's doing.

Then Merlin stood tall and looked down into Arthur's eyes. There may have not even been bars between them in that moment, and Merlin may not have been a prisoner who had not left his cell since the last lunar cycle. Merlin had never looked more like a man and less like a serving boy than he did at that moment. Arthur very suddenly realized that perhaps Merlin was telling the truth when he'd spoken of how powerful a sorcerer he was.

Then Merlin opened his mouth, and Arthur knew what his choice was before the words even left his throat. They both knew.

"How long do I have to pack?"

Yes, they both knew. But only one knew why.


	19. At Whose Hands The World Ended

VII/VII

.

Arthur had no idea what the hell Merlin was doing.

In a way, it was comforting. Over the previous month, he'd gotten so used to having no idea what to do with just about everything that his present bewilderment over Merlin's decision to leave Camelot was…familiar. He'd also gotten used to being able to blame Merlin for knowing all of the things that he did not know. Unfortunately, in the past, he'd been able to saunter down to the dungeons to pester Merlin into giving cryptic answers whenever the urge had overtaken him. Now…

Arthur had to figure out what the hell Merlin was doing.

Yes, he had given Merlin the option. Imprisonment or exile. That had seemed the fairest way to go—if anything, the greatest punishment would have been how he was forcing Merlin to choose the way in which his world would end. Either he would cease to end in it, or he would cease to have access to it, and it would be of his own volition. Despite Arthur's struggles over the early months of his kingship, he was determined to be, at the very least, as fair a king as he could possibly be.

He just hadn't counted on Merlin picking banishment.

Why would he? That was the confusing part. Why would he choose exile? Yes, he would be free, but to do what? Go back to Ealdor, live the life of a farmer after all that he had experienced as a king's confidante in a castle? Could he really do that? No, Arthur could tell that Merlin had a plan of some sort, but Merlin wasn't talking.

He was too busy packing.

Arthur was spending most of his day thus far trying to avoid wherever Merlin happened to be saying his no doubt tearful goodbyes—difficult, because Merlin seemed to be meandering throughout the castle bidding his farewells at random—and pretending that he wasn't dwelling on Merlin's looming departure. Arthur, unprepared for Merlin's abrupt decision, had stammered out in the dungeons after Merlin's question as to his time limit that he had until dawn of the next morning to be out of the city. Merlin had bounded eagerly out of the dungeons, taking the stairs to the corridor above two at a time, leaving Arthur to recover from the shock at how easily Merlin had made up his mind and trying to figure out the way that the man's mind was working.

Personally, Arthur would have chosen imprisonment. Yes, Arthur would have absolutely chosen imprisonment. He wasn't sure whether or not he was proud of this certainty, but he knew. He loved too many people and cared too much about Camelot to leave it forever when he had a choice to stay, no matter the circumstances. After all, it was only his wound and subsequent unconsciousness that had taken him away from Camelot during Morgana's second siege, and that would have been an all but hopeless situation. He supposed that perhaps Merlin's fondness for the kingdom may have somewhat lessened during his month of confinement, but certainly not for the people who had been so kind to Merlin as he stayed in his cell. Arthur almost loved the people more than he had before by proxy for the generosity that they so illegally showed to Merlin.

So Merlin could not be leaving because he wanted to be rid of the people.

What about Camelot? Could Merlin be so disenchanted with Camelot to want to leave and never return? Never was an awfully long time. Yes, he had been locked in the dungeons with orders not to be fed. Arthur was willing to concede that this was perhaps not the greatest motivator for a man to stay in a certain place. And yes, he had been outed as a sorcerer in a place where it was hugely illegal and where so many of his kind had been executed without so much as a halfway legitimate trial.

But Merlin seemed to love Camelot, despite the illogic of it. How many times had he worked and sacrificed to save it? Arthur hoped, for the sake of his own pride, that he would never find out. No one had ever made him stay in Camelot; he could have left anytime that he had wanted to. Pre-imprisonment, of course. In the past, Merlin had modified his own behavior when Arthur had threatened him with exile. Even knowing, certainly knowing that Arthur wouldn't really banish him for speaking out of turn or some other such negligible offense, Merlin would act the part of a semi-respectable servant until Arthur's mood passed or Merlin just couldn't help himself anymore. Arthur had long suspected that there was a certain limit to personal effectiveness that Merlin possessed and that, after a certain amount of legitimate work was done, Merlin basically shut down, having hit his quota for the week.

So Arthur did not think that Merlin could be leaving because he wanted to abandon Camelot forever.

Arthur chose to ignore one of the most glaring of possibilities: Merlin was mad at Arthur, mad in a way that extended beyond giving the king two left boots for an entire day without telling him why he was in pain, beyond serving him cold pickings for all of his meals, beyond stealing his food and calling him fat and insulting his hairline and trashing his room…was Merlin mad enough to leave everything behind? Could he be that spiteful? Could he choose to deprive himself of everything and everyone that he loved just so that he could deprive Arthur?

It did not occur to Arthur until much later how incredibly arrogant such a thought was.

It did occur to Arthur just then that not only was Merlin's choice inconceivable but also very unwise. Arthur had said, in his firmest of firm voices, believing with all of his heart, that whatever Merlin chose, it would be forever. If he chose prison, he would remain in the dungeons forever. If he chose banishment, he'd remain exiled from Camelot forever. Arthur supposed that Merlin had believed him. He hoped so; he'd meant every word.

But he also knew that Merlin knew him. Merlin knew that Arthur had something of a weakness for forgiving those who wronged him if they were people that Arthur cared for. The dungeons were generally reserved long-term only for those who had done serious harm—killing or attacking or pillaging. For friends, Arthur tended to start handing out the pardons whenever he was either bored or desperate for the help. Merlin knew damn well that Arthur tended to turn to him whenever he was overcome with either emotion. He could have stayed in the dungeons, behaved himself, read some books and gotten as fat as was physically possible for a man of Merlin's metabolism from delicacies and inactivity, and waited for Arthur to come down to set him free. It's what Arthur would have done in Merlin's place. Maybe a crisis would arise that could only be averted by magical means, and Arthur could trade a pardon for assistance. That would even be publicly acceptable. Merlin should have known…

Maybe Merlin was being overoptimistic with his chances. Maybe he was counting on Arthur's legislative forgiveness and figured that he may as well wander about Albion without having to be anyone's dogsbody until Arthur came around to granting his pardon. Arthur, in a rare moment of self-awareness, could acknowledge that it would not have been so absurd a plan as it should have been. Permanent banishings had become somewhat temporary under Arthur's reign. He'd watched both Lancelot and Gwaine be banished; he knighted them both a few years later and had even instructed for Lancelot to be interred with honors. Twice. Hell,after dramatically shaking and banishing Guinevere, he'd ended up marrying her. It seemed that the more well-known the banishment, the opener were his arms when he welcomed them back. Judging from the public nature of the whole Merlin ordeal, if Arthur brought him back, he'd probably have to adopt him as a son or something equally appalling. Arthur hoped not; he planned for his pack of strapping sons to all be strong enough to pick Merlin up and use him as a plow before they hit double digits.

He had not yet told Guinevere of this vision of their future. She'd figure it out. They hadn't had any real conversations about having children, but Arthur figured that his wife would be inspired by the flawlessness of his form and strength of his jaw and integrity of his hairline to want to bear as many of his children as was physically possible for her without her womb giving out. Arthur was not sure if he would indulge her in this unvoiced but almost certainly present desire of hers; after all, he had lost his mother in childbirth. He'd never had a mother to teach him the things about girls that his father didn't even know or to kiss him goodnight even when he was far too old for such things or to sew his name into all of his clothes with all of the love in the world…indeed, despite never knowing her, he had felt his mother's absence keenly throughout his whole life.

Not that Arthur was preoccupied with a fear of keenly feeling losses or any other silly ideas. No, Arthur had important matters of state to attend to.

Obviously, Merlin's motivations weren't exactly going to fathom themselves out.

After several hours of musings on the mindset of his former manservant and a thoughtful fifteen minutes in which he named his future brood of sons and ignored the possibility of a daughter, the only solution that lent to Arthur any peace of mind was that this was just another one of Merlin's incredibly stupid decisions.

Unfortunately, thanks to recent revelations, Arthur's peace of mind did not last very long. Of all of the very foolish acts that Arthur had attributed to Merlin, he now had to wonder how many of those very stupid actions were just very poorly thought out lies. Merlin was not an idiot; he was just not particularly skilled at constant lying in a way that did not mark him as a fool. Merlin's incredibly unwise decisions were probably in actuality decisions that had saved Arthur or Camelot or existence and completely ruined Arthur's ability to dismiss Merlin's peculiarities as stupidity.

Merlin had a plan. He must have; it was the only explanation. He'd used his month in jail to come up with a foolproof plan for bettering the world or something equally annoyingly altruistic, knowing that he could very well face banishment. Yes, Merlin formulated a master plan, with many intricate steps, in which choosing to leave Camelot was just the first of many elaborately wise catalysts that would bring about some massive development that would leave the world forever changed. That was what Merlin was doing, surely.

Or maybe he was bluffing. That was another idea. That was a great idea. In fact, Arthur had a new favorite idea. Merlin was just bluffing.

Arthur wouldn't blame him. He wouldn't exactly agree that it was justified, but he would have been able to understand. Merlin seemed determined to view Arthur's withholding of information over the three days between the council vote and the final meeting of king and criminal in the dungeons as more of an extremely unkind sort of a practical joke rather than a tactical move for the benefit of the entire nation. Yes, Arthur had used the word "bluff." But "bluff" is not the same as "joke," and Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin was just being difficult.

It was nice to see that some of the most fundamental parts of Merlin's personality were not fabricated. It would have been even nicer if the ones that were less than genuine had given way to increased patience and courtesy rather than…intelligence. How very inconvenient. Arthur certainly respected intelligence; he himself possessed a great deal of mental agility in almost every subject known to man, save for perhaps medicine and wooing. Everyone knew that. He may have blanked on a learned skill every once in a while, but for someone struck into unconsciousness by blows to the head as often as Arthur was, he figured that he was pretty much at the top of the pack.

Still, it was a bit humbling—not in a nice way—to learn how Merlin had outmaneuvered him for so many years. Arthur would have to take care to not underestimate the potential of servants as he did before. This was perhaps a lesson that would have been better learned in his earlier years, but he had always been such an enthusiastic academic that such matters of emotional interaction had eluded him. At least he had the brains, if not manners, to show for all of his hard work and training.

Not to mention the biceps.

The biceps that were not doing a whole lot for him as he sat stewing on his throne. He felt suddenly lazy; he'd been perched on his grandiose seat for the better part of the morning and, now that it was early afternoon, his lack of movement seemed suddenly much less thoughtful and far more…sulky. Not to mention how he always felt somewhat pathetic when he was sitting in his throne when no one else was in the room, and Arthur had insisted on that. No, Arthur needed to get up, to move, to get his blood pumping so that he could think more clearly of more reasons why Merlin was bluffing and therefore not really going to leave Arthur's kingdom forever within the next eighteen hours. Yes, Arthur needed to do something.

Maybe he would take a nap.

Arthur grew thoughtful once more, the concept of a nap drawing him into deep concentration. It certainly sounded appealing; but where to go? Even in the days of Merlin's willingness to stand guard during Arthur's…breaks, Arthur had preferred not to take them in his own chambers. It felt rather unseemly following his coronation as the highest power in the land. It felt…inappropriate, and Arthur felt that propriety was a key virtue in the persona of any effective monarch.

Also, he could never sleep in his own bed without feeling that he should be in his nightclothes, and he drew the line at changing from day to night garb in the middle of the afternoon. Merlin claimed that this was because changing clothes was always too much of an effort for Arthur to do without serious assistance, and that the fact that Arthur could not just constantly wear the same ensemble no matter what the time of day was what tired him out so completely in the first place. Indeed, Merlin blamed Arthur's fondness for naps on the rigors of fashion.

Arthur was beginning to doubt whether or not Merlin was sincere.

But Merlin's sincerity was not the point. The point was of far greater importance than the likelihood of Merlin's half-truths invading the memories that Arthur retained of the two of them. The point was…where to nap.

His first instinct was his father's chambers; the bed was comfortable, the room spacious, and it felt different enough to his own chambers that he could sleep as he did whenever on a quest or visiting some other kingdom. Merlin also liked Uther's chambers for Arthur's naps. Arthur was fairly sure that this was because Merlin liked to "stand guard" by napping himself in Uther's most comfortable chair. Lazy good-for-nothing. He probably just magically sealed the door and went to sleep as soon as Arthur drifted off.

It was a very peaceful way to pass an hour or two and, as there is precious little peace in the life of a young king, Arthur's guilt over his temporary abandonment of duties faded quickly enough.

Unfortunately, Uther's chambers were not suitable this afternoon. Not only was the large table that had been squeezed in for the council meeting still obscuring most of the free space within the chambers, but Arthur had no one with him just then to recruit into standing watch for him. He was, however, beginning to trust his new manservant somewhat more and was willing to test him out as lookout. Honestly, if he just stayed awake the whole time, he would have exceeding his predecessor.

His manservant.

With Uther's chambers out of the question, Arthur turned to his own. He could take a quick nap in there, nightclothes or not. In any case, he could just take off his tunic. Topless was really the most important factor in his sleeping in his own chamber. In fact, his current manservant was probably already in Arthur's chambers, so there would be an underling to help him with the removal of the tunic and to guard the door with his life.

Arthur started to head for his chambers; he almost asked passing guards and castle workers if they knew where his manservant was, out of habit alone. Whenever Merlin was not at his side or trailing a few feet behind and muttering indistinct slights against the king, he tended to be nowhere to be found. He was either with Arthur, doing his actual duties as a servant whenever there was some matter that took him from the king's presence, or wasting away his skinny little frame in the tavern.

Although Arthur was beginning to wonder if Merlin really did go to the tavern as often as it was claimed. Merlin always did seem annoyed and…somewhat surprised whenever Arthur would accuse him of spending the day drowning in ale as informed by Gaius. Merlin was probably off doing secret magic things. Arthur still wasn't too clear on what sorcerers did for fun when they were slacking off from their jobs, but he was sure that they involved doing something illegal. But maybe Merlin wasn't the drunkard that Arthur had believed, which was somewhat relieving, to be honest. Plus, Arthur certainly didn't pay him enough to spend all of his time frittering it away on drinks, no matter how poorly he held his alcohol.

Gwaine would be so disappointed in Merlin. He'd been fine with the magic and lies and betrayals—impressed, even, at the scope and longevity of Merlin's deceptions—but lying about time spent and tolerance built in an alehouse would quite possibly be too much for the knight.

Good old Gwaine. Arthur was glad to have him around, even if he was perhaps the most unorthodox of the men whom he had knighted without nobility. Good old Gwaine.

Yes, Arthur definitely needed a nap. His mind was wandering embarrassingly, as well as behaving too freely with its affections. Sleep was the obvious remedy

He had not consulted with Gaius on this theory.

He could do that later.

He reached his chambers and paused before entering. After swiftly looking around him to make sure that there were no passersby to see him spying on his own chamber, he pressed his ear up against the thick wood of his door. There were no sounds coming from inside; either his manservant was not within or he was capable of doing his job far more quietly than Arthur was used to. It may have been a month, but it took more than a few weeks to adjust to the serving habits of a servant more dedicated to quiet employment.

Or it was because the wood through which he was attempting to listen was six inches thick. Yes, the odds were fairly good that his manservant was inside.

Taking a deep breath and cursing himself for being so cautious when entering his own rooms, Arthur stood up straight, puffed out his chest in his most superior manner, and opened the door, striding in with the purposeful nature of the most powerful man in the kingdom.

As it turned out, his manservant was not inside, quietly doing his job and respecting the private chambers of his king. No, there was no one inside doing anything remotely respectful in regard to Arthur's personal items and space.

Probably because it was Merlin who was there.

Merlin was sitting at Arthur's desk, picking at a plate of food that looked distinctly disorganized and relatively unappetizing in its disarray, looking as though he had been sitting comfortably for some time and was annoyed with Arthur for the interruption.

Of course he was.

"Hullo, Arthur!"

Arthur didn't move. He was too stricken by the contrast between the instinctual sense of familiarity of walking into his chambers to find Merlin doing something decidedly inappropriate for his position and the knowledge that Merlin in no way belonged anywhere near Arthur's chambers anymore. It was too conflicting for a snappy response. Arthur was so shocked that he forgot to adopt the aloof and uninterested demeanor that he had carefully established for any unfortunate meetings with Merlin before the young man's theoretical departure.

"Merlin, what the hell are you doing in here?"

Merlin shrugged. "Waiting for you and eating your lunch. Honestly, I expected you back before this. Busy morning?"

Merlin did not belong in his chambers. He may not have been condemned to the execution customarily befitting sorcerers in Camelot, but he was still a criminal, and he did not belong within the king's chambers. Arthur opened his mouth to inform the sorcerer of this fact.

"What do you mean that you're eating my lunch? I am the king; I get to have any lunch that I please! How did you even get it?"

Merlin laughed. "You don't want this. It's been on the floor, and I know how you feel about eating off of your floor. Although the floor is impeccably clean today. Has it always been that color? My compliments to the manservant."

Arthur all but growled. "Merlin."

Merlin was the picture of innocence. "What?"

"Why was my lunch on the floor?" Somehow, Arthur always felt that he was the unintelligent one when he had to spell these things out for Merlin, as though he should have already known the answer to the completely ridiculous question that he was being forced to ask.

Merlin shrugged. "Well, it looked much nicer it was first set up on the dish, but the whole arrangement was sort of spoiled when the dish was tossed into the air. Tossed impressively high into the air, actually. I wouldn't have guessed that Robert had it in him."

"Robert?"

"Your new manservant? Honestly, did you never even ask him his name? It wouldn't surprise me," said Merlin, looking offended on the young man's behalf. "I've always had the sneaking suspicion that the only reason that you learned mine was because you asked before I was suckered into being your servant. I so should have let you get stabbed."

Arthur ignored Merlin's last sentence. "No, Merlin, the very first thing that I did when I met him was ask him his name and about his hopes and dreams and family and whether he wanted to be my best friend forever."

Merlin nodded. "I sense that you're being sarcastic."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Your mystic sorcery astounds me."

"Now that I believe," answered Merlin, very seriously.

It was very offensive.

"Merlin!"

"What?" Merlin sounded indignant. He was growing very skilled at making his own unreasonable behavior seem like it was all Arthur's fault.

Arthur took another deep breath. He had to stay on topic if he wanted to retain at least some sense of control in this exchange. "Why did Robert throw my lunch up into the air? I take it that he didn't just trip and fling it all over the floor like you always did. My meals have been distinctly less dusty as of late."

"Dust is good for the disposition."

Arthur chose not to question the sentence. He had serious doubts about its veracity, but Merlin would probably start quoting medical facts and Gaius' teachings to back his claim up. They would certainly be nonsensical, but Merlin was astonishingly good at rambling for extensive periods; Arthur did not have that kind of time to waste, and he tended to give himself a headache from all of the eye-rollings by the time that Merlin would finish. "Merlin."

"Fine," said Merlin in over-exaggerated annoyance. "He was just setting up your food when he was—for some strange and completely unfathomable reason—taken by surprise when I walked in."

"I can't imagine why."

Merlin nodded indignantly once more, as though Arthur's statement was of genuine commiseration. "I wasn't sure if it was because I'm an evil law-breaking sorcerer who likes to light rooms on fire or if it was because I was rude enough to enter the king's chambers without knocking. He seems strangely…fastidious about protocol and politeness. Anyway, whatever the reason, he basically jumped four feet in the air and sent everything that he was holding flying through the air. I was nearly impaled by a spoon, Arthur! It was a very harrowing experience for me. And yeah, your lunch definitely ended up all over the floor."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look intimidating. "You didn't even threaten to turn him into a toad or something?"

"No. 'Toad' threats are reserved for you. But he took one look at me and went running out of here like the room actually was on fire."

"I can't imagine why." Arthur's tone was dry enough that even Merlin wouldn't have been able to justify to himself that it was a statement of sympathetic confusion.

He certainly did not look at Arthur. "Maybe he thought that I was here to wreak vengeance on whoever dared to take my job and that I was planning on raining fire and brimstone down on his frightened little head. Anyway, I'd replace him if I were you. He's kind of skittish. I was somewhat offended, to tell the truth. I mean, yes, it seemed like I ran away and hid a lot, but I had ulterior motives, and I seriously doubt that he's another secret magician. Although you do seem to have a knack for surrounding yourself with them."

"Merlin."

Merlin carried on talking as though he hadn't heard Arthur's warning. By this point in their relationship with one another, he probably didn't unless it held legitimate threat. So much for Arthur's attempts at intimidation. "By the way, Arthur, I've decided that I really don't like him. And before you start to puff up even more, it is not because I'm jealous of my replacement, it's just that he's far too…respectful of everything that you've ever so much as looked at," Merlin said distastefully. "He is going to spoil you rotten."

Arthur shook his head at Merlin's clearly genuine dislike for people who paid proper respect to the king. "Merlin, why are you here? Other than to terrify my manservant and eat the remains of my lunch?"

"It's still good, by the way. My compliments to John. But I would have thought that you'd know why I was here."

Ah, fantastic. The conversation was turning in his favor. This was the perfect opening to go on the scathing offensive. Merlin would rue the day that he ever allowed the opportunity for Arthur to throw some of his most vicious of insults in his direction.

"Oh, do I get a tragic farewell too? You've deigned to toss a goodbye in my direction? I'll tell you right now, you needn't have bothered. I'm good without one. Or have you decided to give up the bluff and admit you're staying?"

Merlin would surely never recover from that verbal blow. Considering how quick Merlin was to weep, Arthur expected a torrent of tears any moment.

Merlin raised his eyebrows, apparently unimpressed, and stood from where he had sat at Arthur's desk. That was okay. It would hit him later.

"It's not a bluff, Arthur. And no, that's not why I'm here. Although, if you have your heart set on it, I could probably choke out a goodbye or two. There are certainly plenty of words that I would love to send your way. Six years of them, in fact."

"Then why are you here?"

Merlin's expression grew urgent. "I have…a request."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in mock intimidation at Merlin's word. Yes, he held the power in the interaction. "This should be interesting."

Merlin ignored Arthur's gurning. "I'm serious, Arthur. Look, I know that you can't do anything anytime soon to the laws about magic. I know that and I understand. No, really, I do. I know that you still have to arrest any sorcerers that are brought before you for now. But I also know that you're not seeing things the way that you used to, and despite all of what that you're supposed to do and have to do right now, I suppose, just…Arthur, whatever you decide to do…please, please don't kill them."

Arthur didn't have to ask who Merlin was referring to. If Arthur went on a bitter rampage against magic possessors when Merlin wasn't there to interfere on their behalf…

Arthur took a deep breath and became as serious as his counterpart. "Merlin, you need to understand something. This isn't so simple. Magic being evil is how I was raised. Magic being evil is mostly what I've mostly seen. Don't make that face at me, I know that there have been some exceptions. You, for example. When Dragoon tried to heal my father. Don't you smirk at me, I know that you're Dragoon," muttered Arthur in irritation before continuing in his explanation on the actions of his that were to come. "Good things have happened to me because of magic, and I know that. But how many times have I been attacked by sorcerers? You've said, over and over, that without your magic, I would be dead. But if it weren't for magic at all, I would never have needed your help in the first place half the time. I can't just…ignore everything that I knew before. I can't just erase my past and what I knew for fact for the majority of my life. Merlin, I was standing on my father's balcony to watch sorcerers being hanged and burned and eviscerated when I still needed a box to stand on in order to see over the railing," Arthur paused, then forced himself to look as deeply into Merlin's eyes as he ever had. Merlin needed to see. "I…understand that magic is not evil. I do, really. But I have to have more time to truly feel it, to justify it with everything that I have been taught by my father and what I have seen with my own eyes. And I'm not the only one. Not everyone has had their life saved over and over again by secret sorcerers. I can't just repeal the laws, Merlin. Camelot needs time, and so do I."

Merlin interjected, seeming unable to hold himself back, the urgency in his face more evident than ever. "Arthur, please just say that you won't-"

"Let me finish. Camelot needs time, Merlin, and so do I. That time that the Witchfinder came? That wasn't because my father had some sudden urge for a spontaneous crack down on magic or because any of his guards had witnessed dangerous magic; it was because someone, a regular old someone, saw magic and reported it. She saw magic, was frightened, and came to tell the king. And all of the children that threw fruit at you in the stocks before your secret came out and that you see on the streets every day? They were born into a world where magic was something to be feared at all costs, where magicians were evil people who wanted nothing more than to harm them and their families. I can't do this overnight, Merlin. This has to be…a process, or it won't work at all. I'm the king, but I can't rule the people if they see me acting what they see as irrationally. Especially now that word about your true nature has come out. Your prominence, if unofficial, in my daily life is no secret. If I make any sudden moves to legalize magic without allowing a proper passage of time, they'll all just think that you've enchanted me, banishment or not. This is…political as much as it is ethical. You were right when you said that this would define my entire kingship."

"Arthur, just don't—"

Arthur raised his hand to silence Merlin. He needed to get this all out at once, and Merlin heeded his silent order. "I'm not done. I give you my word—not that you deserve it, you bony little liar—that I will neither imprison, if I can help it, nor execute any person for having magic. Those who use it against me will receive no more mercy than any person who attacks with blade or arrow. But I will not kill them without reason."

There was a long pause. "Thank you."

Arthur sniffed. This was far too much emotional sharing for a usually stoic man who had only wanted a nap. Time to break the tension. He choked out the closest sound to a laugh that he could manage. "Don't thank me, thank your mother. She saved your life with a neckerchief."

Merlin snorted. "Arthur, are you forgetting how often my neckerchiefs have served as bandages for all of your mortal wounds, of which there were surprisingly many? I'd say that she's saved your life with neckerchiefs."

Arthur gave a laugh, a real laugh, of exasperation. "Oh, for the love of…I'm talking metaphorically, Merlin!"

Merlin's expression of mock-seriousness was back. "I didn't even know that you knew what a metaphor was."

"Of course I do. I've had more tutors in my life than you've had successful attempts at walking in a straight line," responded Arthur, his voice lofty and his nose in the air.

"Can you define a simile?" asked Merlin, straight-faced.

"Merlin."

"Fine," answered Merlin, giving a little bow in Arthur's direction. "Please explain to me your metaphor, sire."

Arthur took a deep breath. So much for lightening the mood. "Remember when you gave me the keys to your cell? The ones that all of your smugglers slipped you?"

Merlin nodded, realizing where Arthur was going with this. "I wrapped them in my neckerchief. For dramatic effect, actually. It was kind of hilarious watching you unfold the keys and then seeing your face get redder and redder. You would have laughed if you'd seen it."

"I don't think that I would have, actually, Merlin," Arthur said flatly.

Merlin put his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a mother scolding a misbehaving toddler. Ah, what a healthy relationship they had. "You know, I seem to remember asking for that neckerchief back."

Arthur bit down a sharp retort. He'd come to realize the significance of the neckerchiefs, and Merlin's easiness of tone did not fool him. Arthur reached into his pocket and withdrew the faded piece of fabric, folded carefully into a neat square. He handed it to Merlin. "Let's just say that I didn't feel particularly open to granting you favors at the time."

Merlin took the neckerchief in surprise, unfolding it with an indiscernible expression on his face. "You kept it in your pocket?"

There was no mockery in his voice; Merlin sounded…touched.

Arthur's answer was as eloquent as it was brief. "Yes."

Now Merlin sniffed. After a few moments, he looked up, eyes bright but smiling. "So, what's this metaphor of yours?"

Arthur began pacing. "I…I found where she sewed your name into it, the neckerchief. You used to tell me that story, remember? Yes, I was actually listening. You told it often enough. And then…then, I realized that I was king and that, while Iam king, no mother should have to outlive her son when there is no reason for him to die. You're no threat to anything except for the law against sorcery, which is outdated, to say the least. No, in my kingdom, punishments will no longer be disproportionate to the crime."

Merlin began to fold and unfold the neckerchief in his hands. "Thank you, on my mother's behalf, then, that she won't have to live beyond me. And I guess that I'll have to stop by Ealdor on my exile and thank her for her neckerchief intervention."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. So Merlin was still trying to convince him that he was leaving. He opened his mouth to challenge the bluff that Merlin seemed unwilling to give up on, despite having been figured out, when he saw Merlin's smile change from of gratitude and bittersweetness to one of amusement.

"What?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

Merlin's smile turned into the sort of frown that always grows when a person tries to turn a smile into solemnity—an overly dramatic forcing down of the lips with the turning up of the corners of the mouth. Arthur saw this a lot with Merlin. Usually after Arthur tried to dress himself.

Merlin shook his head dismissively. "Oh, nothing."

"Merlin."

"It's nothing!" Merlin's voice went high-pitched, a telltale sign that he was lying about something too unserious to be properly defended.

Arthur brandished a finger in Merlin's direction. "No, no, you…smirked! You have something else to say. Go on. You're already banished and I've already sworn not to execute you for this. Go on, then. Tell the truth; you've been lying to me for the past six years. Break your habit."

"Closer to the past seven years, actually," Merlin corrected helpfully.

"Really, Merlin? You're really gonna go there?" Now Arthur's hands went to his hips in indignation and disbelief.

Merlin sighed melodramatically, a laugh muffled by the exaggerated violence of the exhalation. "Fine, I'll tell you. It's just…not that I want to change your mind or anything, but you do know that my mother doesn't live in your kingdom, right? I was born under Cenred, not Uther. Officially, neither she nor I are citizens of Camelot. Really, Arthur, honestly, you're not even my king."

Arthur had known this; hadn't Ealdor not existing as part of Camelot been part of their motivations for traveling hence each time that they had over the last six years? Or closer to seven years, as Merlin had so annoyingly pointed out. Maybe Arthur hadn't made the connection—Merlin's loyalty to him had always made him feel as though the young man was actually the ultimate citizen of Camelot—but he didn't need to be lectured by Merlin. Time for another crushing insult.

"Merlin?"

Merlin nodded knowledgeably. "'Shut up?'"

"No. 'Go away.'"

Merlin laughed and turned toward the door to comply. "That is the idea, Arthur. This is goodbye, after all."

As if. Merlin wouldn't be laughing if this were their final farewell. Smiling affectionately, maybe, but certainly through copious tears of sorrow and regret. He was beginning to be insulted; Merlin surely wasn't going anywhere.

Merlin ambled over to Arthur's door and opened it. Before exiting, he looked over at Arthur, that same calculating and intelligent smile on his face that had so alarmed Arthur when he had first seen it down in Merlin's well-stocked cell.

Apparently, Merlin's fondness for last minute callings-after had followed him out of the dungeon.

Yet when the pair had had those final communications during Merlin's incarceration, Arthur had been unable to see Merlin's expression. Had this so strange and off-putting smile been on his face every time? Arthur hoped not—it would have felt as though everything that Merlin had been doing and saying was just part of a plan, and that was too disconcerting a thought to take seriously.

Merlin certainly looked sure of himself—confident and almost cocky—as he spoke in a voice filled with dignified authority, calling over his shoulder. "By the way, Arthur, a few minutes ago, when you said that I'm no threat to anything except the law against sorcery? Think back, Arthur. Over the years, how many of your most indomitable and dangerous of enemies have just suddenly…disappeared, never to be seen nor heard from again? And I'm a threat to nothing but your law? Come on, Arthur, think back and think hard. I think that we both know damn well that that's not true."

Merlin left Arthur's chambers, shutting the door behind him, and Arthur was suddenly struck with a very real fear that perhaps Merlin really was going to leave.


	20. Decision And The Dawn

Arthur had been trained in a myriad of contradicting methods. He was taught that he should always carefully think through his options before making any decisions, for the choices of a king are too important and influential to be made on the fly. He was also taught that relying on his instincts was an essential part of becoming an effective king. There were times when a ruler would not have the time or opportunity to meticulously weigh his options before making declaration. Basically, Arthur had been trained to rule in an eternal battle of head versus heart..

He was also trained to be an effective fighter, but he'd never minded those lessons.

As of late, he'd come to rely more on heart than head. It was so easy for him to listen to what others told him was the smart thing to do, but there was no man who could truly dictate how he felt about a matter. He saved lives—his own and those of others—when he listened to his heart; people tended to die when he only listened to his head. It was one of the most lingering lessons that he had learned from his over-reliance on Agravaine.

Maybe, just maybe it was not meant to be head versus heart. Through his ponderings over the last month with regard to the Merlin conundrum, he had found that it was more through a combination of head and heart that he was able to reach the most fair of conclusions. He had known that Merlin needed to be punished, and he had felt that the extraneous circumstances of Merlin's crimes required addressing. Through these knowings and feelings, Arthur had discovered the inherent injustice in one of the oldest and most severely punished laws in the land. Through heart and head, through punishment and clemency, through the bias of love and a lifetime of certainties, Arthur was beginning to see his kingdom more clearly. He liked to think that he had always tried to see both sides of an argument, but he now knew that that was not enough. He had to look at the details, the minutiae of the circumstances, the facts so easily overlooked in order to embrace justice. He had to see what was contained within the argument.

Head and heart.

It was because of this conclusion that Arthur's anger, so heatedly directed at Merlin over the last weeks, began to fade with such swiftness that he almost didn't realize that it was happening. Yes, Merlin was a criminal and liar and a shoddy servant whose insufficiencies as an attendant became more and more apparent as each day with the new serving boy passed. But Merlin's actions had led to such an epiphany that Arthur could not help but feel grateful.

Merlin had known; he'd even said it. He'd told Arthur that what he decided regarding Merlin's fate would affect the way in which Arthur as king would rule his nation for the rest of his life. Yes, Merlin had known.

The little weasel. Arthur couldn't help but feel that the whole ordeal could have gone far more quickly and painlessly if Merlin had just shared a few details of his plan. Merlin's methods may have been more altruistic than Arthur had given him credit for during their dungeon meetings, but he stood by what he had said. Merlin had played Arthur like a drum. He'd been pulling the strings from the moment that he'd conjured that damn fire room. Merlin may not have had it all worked out right away, but he knew what he was doing. He had orchestrated—or at least did his best to influence—the ordeal from the beginning, his hand in each of Arthur's dilemmas.

And he hadn't even used magic to do it. Perhaps Merlin had just always known the importance the balance of head and heart.

The little weasel.

But now Arthur knew as well. He had actually been quite proud both that he'd finally been able to see the changes that had been slowly progressing through his person during the month of Merlin's imprisonment and that he had come to the realization on his own. Granted, it had been shortly after their most recent conversation, but it was still Arthur's revelation. Merlin may have had the sticks, but it's the drum that makes the sound. Yes, Arthur had learned the true importance of the coexistence of heart and head.

Which is why it did not occur to him until far later the irony in the way in which he had immediately thereafter dismissed the acknowledgment of balance in favor of a focus on feeling.

Arthur knew that Merlin said that he was leaving. He knew that there were so very many reasons for Merlin to want to leave. He knew that most of the others in the castle—Guinevere, Gaius, even the knights—believed that Merlin was leaving. He knew that Merlin was not the type of man to be able to spend a life underground, and he knew that Merlin was not one to break his word on a matter of such significance. He knew that maybe, just maybe, Merlin could be persuaded to stay if Arthur would just ask him. Indeed, he knew that there was such a long list of reasons for Merlin to choose banishment over imprisonment that it almost seemed a waste of time to try to think of reasons why he would not.

But there was no way that Merlin was leaving.

Arthur had said as much to Guinevere, brightly, as they ate their dinner. She'd spared him no more than a disdainful glance. Arthur didn't mind; this just proved to him that she didn't understand what was going on at all.

Still, she was his wife, and he had always felt that it was impossible to truly love a wife without respecting her opinions and feelings. And Arthur loved her very much.

So, as twilight was falling, Arthur sat at his desk, so lavishly marked with his name and title through his penknife exertions of previous days, and took to quill and parchment. He was going to make a pro and con list for Merlin's choosing of banishment. Guinevere deserved that much.

It was a complete and honest list; Arthur could not with any self-respect ignore the many potential causes for Merlin's choice of flight. He actually nearly ran out of space on his roll of parchment when filling out the "pro" column; his writing grew smaller and smearier and he reached toward the bottom.

Arthur was slightly put out when it came time to try to match the cons with the pros. All that he could come up was "Merlin would not leave." Being an intelligent man, Arthur realized almost immediately that this one reason would hardly equal the many on the pro side. Fortunately, Arthur was a wise and resourceful king, so the conundrum did not puzzle him for very long. He just wrote "Merlin would not leave" in gigantic letters in the con column. There may not have been as many words as in the pro, but Arthur did his best to use far more ink. When he found that there was still some space at the bottom, despite his efforts at oversized lettering, his artistic side reared up once more and he began to ponder how to best illustrate the ink-blotted parchment.

Half an hour later, Arthur was able to beam down at his drawing. On the con side, lacking of points of argument, was a picture of both Arthur and Merlin. In the left corner was a stick figure with flames shooting out of his hands and "magic" written around his head. Towering over him was a broad shouldered hero with a sword and shield and crown and a remarkably thick head of hair. Arthur considered labeling which figure was supposed to represent which of the two men, but he figured that any onlookers could use context clues once they recovered from their immediate dazzling at the skill of the drawing.

Yes, the pro and con list had been a good plan. And productive. Everyone else should have made one as well; then they would know better than to mope around, convinced at Merlin's looming departure. Everyone was deluded but him!

His manservant knocked on his door, and Arthur shouted for him to enter, his good mood at his artistic ventures and certainty of his conclusion even preventing him from scowling at the boy for knocking again. Looking temporarily disconcerted and faintly alarmed at the smile on the king's face—an expression rarely seen by the new attendant when entering the chambers—he stammered out that dinner was waiting in the council chambers, in which repairs were progressing nicely. Arthur felt that it looked encouraging for the king and his queen to dine in the still unfinished room, finally giving in to the fact that even matters not concerning state were carefully observed by his people. Arthur didn't mind that night; his artistic endeavors had given him quite an appetite, and he all but strutted down the corridors to the council chambers. Guinevere would have been heartened; Arthur had not strutted since the day on which Merlin had set the world on fire. She would be pleased to see him as he strode in for their meal.

Guinevere did not join him for dinner.

He didn't hold it against her; he was fairly certain that she had not yet forgiven him for the month in which Merlin had been left in the dungeons. He did find it a bit rich that she could be so high and mighty with him when he was fairly certain that she had been among the most generous of contributors to Merlin's stash of contraband down in his cell, but he accepted that perhaps the incarceration of a dear friend could be considered somewhat less forgivable than the sneaking of a plate of food now and then.

Plus, she seemed convinced that whatever had been her most recent conversation with Merlin was to be their last. He supposed that that could possibly have something to do with her reluctance to have a cheery meal with the man who had sent Merlin away.

Women were so unreasonable.

He could stand it. After all, he only had to wait until dawn before the game was up and the truth revealed. Come morning, Merlin would still be in Camelot and Arthur would be in such a magnanimous mood that he would be more than willing to overlook a deception or two and Guinevere would be hungry again, having received the happy ending to the whole ordeal.

Arthur chose to ignore the fact that there was no way that this ordeal could possibly have any sort of happy ending. That possibility had gone out the window on the evening of Merlin's birthday.

How appropriate.

He ate a fairly large meal; between his increased artistic appetite, the hunger that always accompanies great anxiety, and the fact that there had been enough food for two prepared and brought out for the royal supper, he felt obligated to go through as much of it as possible.

And if he was being honest with himself, he was hoping to tire himself out. If he could eat himself into something of a stupor—with the aid of enough wine to make Gwaine proud—then he would surely be able to fall asleep. As he had sat down to his dinner, he had known that there was no way that he would be able to sleep a normal night's rest. He was too excited for the sunrise when he would be able to prove Merlin—and the remainder of the castle—wrong.

It did not seem to be working.

Arthur headed back to his chambers and dismissed his manservant before the boy had even had the chance give so much as a bow in greeting. He regretted this almost immediately; he was still fully dressed. Still. Arthur probably wasn't going to be able to sleep anyway; lounging in his clothes would just spare him the trouble of getting redressed in the morning. He still wasn't used to being dressed by an unfamiliar hand.

Merlin had ruined everything with his longevity.

Arthur lay on his bed, not bothering to go under the covers. He'd usually have gone to see Guinevere—to say goodnight, at the very least—before he went to bed, but if she wanted to sulk in her chambers, then he could do the same.

Besides, he knew what she was going to say to him. Arthur did not need to be told that he was acting like a child.

He already knew. He shut his eyes and tried to pretend that he didn't.

When Arthur next opened his eyes, he was shocked to find that the sky was lightening. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but the sky was the sort of half-hearted combination of purple and blue that always preceded the coming of morning. It was so late that it was early. He had managed to fall asleep.

Well, stranger things had happened. It must have been the poultry.

Arthur considered staying in bed for a while more; perhaps he had not roused himself so much that he could not drift off once more. Unfortunately, he was only managing to close his eyes for a few moments before he would open them once more to stare out the window, waiting for the sun to rise and day to come and everything to change so radically that everything would be the same again.

Well, this wouldn't do.

Already dressed anyway, Arthur rolled off of his bed and worked his feet into his shoes. The donning of his own boots turned out to be a far more arduous process than Arthur would have thought, and the sky was noticeably lighter when he looked up once more.

This was as good a time as any to perform his annual inspection of the dungeons. It would be easy enough; with no prisoners currently rotting away, it would be empty, and he would not have to face the questions of any particular guards as to the curious timing of his inspection. Well, with no prisoners officially rotting away.

Arthur swung out of his chambers, nearly tripping over his sleeping manservant. He still wasn't used to the boy's sleeping so close to his doors. He was beginning to miss the privacy afforded him by Merlin's unwillingness to accommodate properly.

He managed to stay upright with as much regal dignity as he could muster. No one was there to have caught his blunder, but he was so accustomed to having every movement serve as part of a never-ending performance that clumsiness was not to be tolerated at any time.

Ah, the joys of being king.

Arthur strode purposefully down the corridors toward the dungeon, making a conscious effort to resume his strut. It felt good; he felt like himself again. He felt confident and competent and as kingly as he had when he first heard the chants of approval from the crowds at his coronation.

It was that confident strut—the march of sure foot before sure foot—that prevented him from falling over as he collided with a very solid and very well armored guard standing outside of the entrance to the dungeons.

Arthur was just glad that he was king now. He had the right to swear at the top of his lungs without judgment. He may have been the one to walk directly into a completely stationary and surprisingly large man, but it was absolutely not his fault in the least. The guard was even apologizing before Arthur had finished his stream of halfhearted obscenities, none of which were aimed at the guard so much as at the situation.

When the guard finally stopped apologizing and adopted a respectful silence, Arthur assumed his most intimidating stance and wished that he knew the guard's name so as to seem more authoritative.

"What exactly are you doing standing outside the dungeons at this hour?"

The guard removed his helmet. Arthur wasn't sure if this was a sign of respect or if he had just collided with the man with such speed and strength that the metal was vibrating him into deafness.

"I'm guarding them, my lord."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, wishing not for the first time that he was able to raise just one at a time. Lofty inquisition was so much better conveyed one eyebrow at a time. "Why are you guarding the dungeons?"

The guard hesitated, and Arthur's heart leapt. So it was true! Merlin had given up his bluff and taken his place in the dungeons. The guard had just discovered the prisoner before Arthur had and had assumed the proper stance for a man of his employment. Arthur hastily continued. "Has a prisoner been taken back down—I mean, taken down—while I was sleeping?"

The guard hesitated again, looking as though there was something that he very much did not want to tell the king. "No, sire. It's just that we…the guards, I mean…received word that you strongly believed that the sorcerer would return to his place as prisoner rather than going into banishment. While we know…while we were told that the sorcerer was planning on exiling himself, we felt that it was best to respect your beliefs and guard the dungeon just in case. All prisoners need guards, my lord, no matter how willingly they are imprisoned."

Arthur abandoned all pretense of impartiality. "So Merlin's not down there?"

"No, sire. Not yet, at least."

Hmm. This was getting suspicious. What kind of game was Merlin playing?

Well, whatever he was doing, Arthur sure as hell couldn't be caught loitering down by the dungeons when Merlin did show up to lock himself in. He didn't want to give Merlin the satisfaction of thinking that Arthur was at all preoccupied with the goings-on of this morning.

Which he was absolutely not.

Arthur nodded, more to himself than to the guard, and turned to head back to his chambers, making a note not to trample on his presumably still sleeping servant. He was just about to slowly inch his door open—not in the mood to wake and then have to deal with the solicitous young man—when he glanced to his right and saw a dim light flickering from beneath the door to Guinevere's separate chambers. When she was awake, she tended to stay in the shared chambers that lay between their bedrooms, but Arthur expected that she was still too annoyed with him to willingly approach anything that was associated with her husband.

Well, too bad for her. Arthur really needed to talk to someone just then, and he could deal with an annoyed wife if that's what it took. Just seeing her would be enough of a reminder that he was still loved and that he still loved with enough fervency to forget his woes for a few moments at least. So he knocked gently on her door, just in case she was sleeping.

Judging by the way in which the light went out immediately after he knocked, Arthur got his answer. Yes, she was inside; yes, she was awake; and yes, she was annoyed enough with him to pretend to be asleep by extinguishing her candles.

He knocked again, more loudly this time. "Guinevere, I know that you're awake. You just blew out your candle to try to get me to go away. Let me in," he said tiredly, only just remembering to add a "please" at the end of his address.

There was a pause of a few moments before he heard a grouchy voice call out, "Come on in, then."

He entered and stood silently for a few moments, just looking at her.

She sat on her chair by her open window, in only her long nightdress but bundled up in a blanket, holding onto a half-melted purple candle, with the remnants of night mixing with the flickering flame of her single remaining lit candle to reflect off of her hair, which moved ever so slightly in the chilled breeze that wafted in halfheartedly from the waking world below. Indeed, were it not for the scowl on her face, it would have been quite a lovely image.

Plus, he half-guessed that she had just picked up the purple candle to annoy him.

"Good morning," he ventured. She didn't answer, apparently preferring the option of deepening her scowl.

And she was usually a morning person.

"I missed you at dinner last night."

He was almost surprised that she deigned to answer. "I wasn't hungry."

This was good. This was an opening for small talk. While he didn't usually find it reassuring that he was engaging in small talk with someone in so intimate a relationship with him as his wife, it was certainly preferable to what he was expecting.

"Why not?"

This was apparently not the right response, for her eyes narrowed to such slits that Arthur was willing to bet that she couldn't see anything out of them at all. If she wasn't already blinded by her annoyance.

"Why do you think?"

So much for small talk. Arthur's head began to throb, and he wondered in the back of his mind if Merlin was trying to explode it from a distance. In the forefront of his mind, however, Arthur was considering playing dumb about what could possibly be bothering her with regard to current events, but he decided that this was not the best plan. She already seemed to think that he was being an idiot. He should gather what intelligence points he could while he had the chance.

"I'm guessing that this has something to do with Merlin."

Guinevere gave him a round of sarcastic and distinctly insulting applause. She was mad. He rarely saw her like this. "Good guess, Arthur. It does have something to do with the good and loyal man that you drove away from your kingdom for fibbing once or twice after letting him rot in a dungeon for an entire month and not feeding him and—"

Arthur heard his voice go embarrassingly high-pitched as he interrupted her. "'Fibbing once or twice?' Really, Guinevere? Really?"

Guinevere stood up and slammed her hands on her desk, still clutching the damn purple candle, which was somehow not squashed by her exertion. Stupid candles.

Apparently choosing to ignore the justness of Arthur's objection in favor of indignant offense, Guinevere adopted her loftiest of voices. "What do you want, Arthur?"

Arthur abandoned any attempts at pleasantries. He'd try to work through this with her later when they were both more well-rested and reasonable. He couldn't pretend that he was at his best either. He gave up the pretense. "Guinevere, I just want to know where Merlin is. The sun's nearly up, and I told him that he had until dawn."

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. How was it that everyone could do that except for him? Did it run in families or something? Morgana could do it, and they were siblings. Maybe she got it from her mother rather than Uther. That would make sense.

For some reason, Guinevere seemed more focused on Arthur's question than on her apparently masterful control of her eyebrows. "He's heading for the borders, I'd imagine."

Arthur scoffed wearily. "Heading for the borders? He's supposed to be in the dungeons, Guinevere. The guards say that he hasn't shown up."

Her second eyebrow lifted to join the first, and Arthur sighed in relief. Now they were on even ground in terms of the controlling of facial features.

Guinevere seemed to interpret this as more of a sigh of regret or sorrow rather than reassurance, for her voice was somewhat gentler when she answered. "You banished him, Arthur. He's not supposed to be anywhere near here. You know that."

Arthur scoffed again, clearly employing the best method for assuaging his wife's frustration. "He wasn't actually leaving."

Guinevere's voice remained soft; if Arthur had been more self-aware just then, he would have been somewhat frightened by the implications of her sympathy. She knew what Merlin meant to him…

"He did leave, though, Arthur. He's gone."

Arthur shook his head and began pacing, beginning to feel the rush that always began to wash over him when he reached a point where he was so tired that he was as alert as he had ever been. His steps could almost be called nervous, were it not for the look of twitching confidence on his face. "He's not, though. He must just be dawdling. That's what he's doing. Typical Merlin. I did technically give him until dawn, and it's still…dusky out there. He's probably just milking it for all it's worth. He can be so melodramatic sometimes. You should have heard some of the things that he was saying in the dungeon."

Guinevere shook her head gentler than ever and took her seat once more, as though her stillness could somehow balance out the frenetic movements of her husband. "Arthur-"

"Anyway," Arthur interrupted enthusiastically. "Since I'm already up, I thought that I'd take my tour of the grounds and lower town earlier than usual. I was surprised to see you—that you were awake—as well. Would you care to join me?" He hoped that he sounded as regal and appealing as he intended.

"Not particularly."

Apparently not.

"…okay, then."

Arthur nodded to her as respectfully and lovingly as he could in his state of buzzing energy and ducked out of her chambers, closing the door behind him. He thought that he saw her cover her face with her hands, still holding the candle, as he glanced back.

He didn't stop to make sure. He preferred not being sure.

He had a tour of the grounds to go on!

It certainly was earlier than usual; part of the reason that he went on his usual jaunt about the town and citadel was so that the people would see his continued willingness to interact with them—a quality abandoned by Uther a few years into his reign. There weren't really any people around to observe him as he took his swift walk at this hour, but that was okay. They would see him tomorrow, and the fresh air was doing him good. The movement got his blood flowing again, and he felt a warmth in his cheeks that meant that he was regaining some of his color. The cool breeze that accompanied the last vestiges of night as the sun began its reluctant ascent into the sky ruffled through his remarkably full and thick head of hair, and he increased his pace to a jog.

It felt amazing. He didn't often get the chance to move so uninhibited throughout his kingdom anywhere. He had plenty of physical exertions, but he was almost always covered head to toe in armor when undergoing them. At the very least, he almost always wore a cape when he moved about outside. It felt so free and innocent to be able to move so unimpressively with no one to watch or guard or worship him. It was wonderful.

After giving his cursory examination of the lower town—far more quickly than he was able when it was hustling and bustling with morning movement—Arthur turned and moved briskly toward his true destination.

The stables.

He actually felt very sneaky with this plan. He had found a way to unearth his answers without revealing himself to the real object of his curiosity. Oh, his investigatory skills would never fail him! The stuff of legend indeed…he felt himself begin to strut again as he entered the stable and looked about and—

And there she was.

He knew it.

Merlin's favorite horse was still tethered in her stall, sleepily munching on oats of some sort in her beautifully mucked out stable—two signs that Merlin had not been in the area for some time. He certainly would have managed to make some sort of mess even when attempting to do something so simple as bridling the mare, and there was no way in hell that Merlin would have left without his horse.

Of course he hadn't. Merlin was down in his cell, lounging on the cot that Arthur hadn't bothered to confiscate. He'd just have another one smuggled in before he'd had to spend a single night on the floor. It wasn't worth the effort to take it away and, despite Merlin's insistent bluff that he was, in fact, leaving, Arthur believed with his whole heart that Merlin would stay true to his word. Come dawn, he would either be gone or back in his cell for the indeterminate—and theoretically permanent—future. A bluff wasn't the same as lying; Merlin could claim that he was leaving and stay without breaking his word.

Yes. Merlin would stay and stay for good.

Arthur smiled and remained in the stable, watching the sun slowly begin to rise up over the citadel and absently petting Merlin's horse as he waited. Dawn was coming.

Arthur was so absorbed in his sudden calmness and the soothing repetition of his stroking of the mare's neck that the sunrise managed to come and go without his noticing. It was only when he heard a door slam that he realized that people were beginning to rise. Not many; the door was probably only that of the candle merchant who liked to set up his stall and raise the wooden canopy before the sun came out to melt his stash as he unpacked it.

Arthur shook his head back and forth, waking himself up. He did not have to force himself to walk at a reasonable pace as he left the stables, and he did not have to struggle to maintain a calm countenance as he moved through the corridors to the dungeon, nodding to the drowsy attendants as he passed them.

Reaching the doorway to the dungeon, he did not bother to stop to speak to the guard who still stood sentry at the doorway. While this was arguably a rude way to enter the man's domain, Arthur didn't care. He was truly the king that morning. The guard seemed to be avoiding his gaze for some reason anyway.

Arthur walked down the narrow passage toward the smallest cell in which Merlin had been housed for the past month. He was dimly surprised that Merlin hadn't selected to lock himself into one of the larger cells for his presumably permanent imprisonment, but maybe he had just gotten used to the one to which he had been assigned. Or maybe he liked having the corner cell. Or maybe he just didn't feel like transfering all of his accumulated stuff out of his original room. The curtain certainly would have been a pain to move. Who knew?

When Arthur later related what happened during those minutes in the dungeon to Guinevere, he was never sure of the duration of his walk down the prison corridor. Was it because his stride was so much more calm and controlled than on his previous stompings down to visit that it seemed to take longer? Or was it because whenever he was recounting those final moments that he wanted to prolong the certainty that he had felt with every fiber of his being as though they had taken ages and ages to occur? Arthur would never know.

At that very moment, all that Arthur knew was that there was no one in Merlin's cell.

The door was hanging open, and the cell somehow seemed darker and dingier than the rest that he had passed on his way down the passage, despite the homier atmosphere of the decorations within. It took Arthur a few moments to realize that it was not his own overwhelmingly disappointed confusion that was affecting his vision, but rather that the fabric that Merlin had hung over his small window, obscuring the view to the outside, was still hanging over the grate. Some sunlight was able to penetrate through the thinness of the cloth—not a neckerchief—but it served to block all of the sights of outside.

Arthur walked into the cell, still holding the various bits of furniture that Merlin had accumulated. It somehow looked incomplete, and it took Arthur a few scans of the small space to realize that it was because all of Merlin's clothes were gone.

Calmly, Arthur tore down the fabric that had covered the window and sat down on one of Merlin's two chairs—the one with the embroidered cushion looked most comfortable—and stared up through the tiny gap between stone and sunlight. He gazed beyond the roughly hewn sill as best he could, squinting past the grate, and suddenly understood why Merlin had ultimately blocked the window and stated his plan to leave.

Arthur could hardly see anything. He had a decent view of the stocks—how cruel that was to a prisoner!—that were surrounded by the trampled seeds of what Arthur guessed were dozens of exploded melons. There were a few mercantile stalls that he could spot, but he could not see enough of them to identify which were which. There would be foot traffic once the sun came up in earnest, but Arthur could tell from his position that the dungeons were far too underground for Merlin to have been able to see anything above the knees of the passersby, and even then he would have had to painfully incline his neck. There would have been no space for him to be able to see faces—smiles, frowns, sighs, yawns, laughs, tears…Merlin would have only seen the movement of the people outside, going about their daily business with all of the ethereal ordinariness in the world. The window…it made the world look so very small.

It was in that instant that Arthur understood that Merlin was truly gone.


	21. To Know Is To Believe Is To Know

Arthur was becoming very methodical.

It was a trait fairly recently acquired and, as Arthur had to admit, acquired somewhat backwards. He imagined that the typical way in which a man—even one so mighty as Arthur—developed methodology was by viewing a large issue and breaking it down, step by step.

Not so for Arthur. Apparently, he mused, part of being king involved taking relatively simple processes and making them as spectacularly difficult as was possible. He'd found that there were so many details that were so very easy to discern, that could be taken care of quickly and independently, that it was remarkably easy to overlook their roles as parts of a larger scenario.

Yes, for the first time, Arthur was truly seeing the big picture. He was facing the little facts, those small bits of information that he absolutely knew to be true, and was forced now to at least try to reconcile them with the situation before him. It was time to fit the details into their proper frame.

But it was not so simple. It felt as though he was trying to reconstruct a entirely shattered statue without knowing its original shape. The only conceivable solution was to examine carefully, one by one, each little certainty that had become so precious to him over the recent weeks of confusion.

This would be easy enough. The things that he knew…

Merlin was gone.

Arthur hoped that he looked either inordinately offended or particularly pathetic—in a very dignified way—as he traversed the corridors of his castle that morning, having left the stable to its long-term occupants as they stamped their hooves in waking irritation at the invader. If he didn't look as though he were sincerely suffering on some count or other, he would never hear the end of it. His rather public declarations that Merlin would surely be deciding to stay in the dungeons would have opened him to at least some teasing among certain of his subjects, whether he was privy to it or not. Best to look as though he was too forlorn or angry to be subject of ridicule.

For Merlin was indeed gone. Arthur had had the presence of mind to stop by Gaius' chambers to check in with the older man, striding purposefully in that direction after leaving the stable. Whether it was because it was ridiculously early in the morning or because Arthur had banished Gaius' surrogate son whom he loved more than any other person in the world for the rest of his life, the physician did not seem to be feeling his most courteous to the king. He did not, however, give the impression of any falsehood when he answered Arthur's single question, seemingly accepting Arthur's expressions of sympathy for the loss that was, for all intents and purposes as far as the aging man was concerned, the same as Merlin's execution. Potential change of heart or not, Gaius seemed to know that it was unlikely that Arthur would call Merlin back home before he himself died.

Arthur was glad for the apparent honesty; his admittedly useless statements of apology and empathy came from the heart. And he was glad for the swiftness of Gaius' response; he was not sure that he could have faced the heartbroken expression in the physician's eyes for much longer than he had to.

After all, he only needed to know when Gaius had last seen Merlin.

And so Arthur found another thing that he knew.

Merlin had left sometime shortly after midnight.

Arthur had briefly considered that perhaps Gaius was not the last to see Merlin, and that Merlin could have stopped to make plenty more farewells. But Arthur doubted it. Merlin loved Gaius as a father; he would have wanted to delay their parting for as long as possible. And Arthur was fairly certain that there would have been no way for Merlin to have managed to remain in the castle for long after bidding his guardian goodbye. Gaius was certainly the last—or almost last—to have seen Merlin.

Yes, Merlin would have saved Gaius for last. He'd certainly made plenty of farewells; Arthur knew that Merlin had barely stopped to sit down for more than a few moments since Arthur had freed him—officially—from his cell. Merlin had been a busy boy for his last day.

Which led Arthur to a next realization. He was so flabbergasted by his own wit that he almost didn't realize what he was doing as he turned, barely of his own volition, to walk back to the stables.

Merlin would not have slept in more than a day.

Merlin had been a busy boy indeed. From a passing glance toward Merlin's room before fleeing Gaius' somber chambers, he'd seen the walls, bed, and desk stripped. Merlin had to have spent at least an hour or two packing up his possessions. From the reports that Arthur had rather surreptitiously ordered regarding the young man's movements throughout the lower town and citadel—not out of concern, of course—Arthur was merely keen on avoiding any accidental meetings between the two of them—he'd been saying hellos and goodbyes to just about everyone whom he had ever met.

Silly sentimental boy.

Of course, that's not how Merlin had been described in the reports given to Arthur. They had been delivered by certain of the knights, who seemed to be dividing their day equally between tailing Merlin and composing the most complimentary ways to describe the young man's actions and the most sullen ways to address the king without coming out and stating their true opinions on the matter.

Gwaine in particular seemed quite skilled at multitasking in this manner, although his glowing descriptions of Merlin became less…luminescent as the day passed. Arthur had the distinct impression that Gwaine was insulted that he had not yet been targeted by Merlin's sympathies.

Arthur figured that Merlin was just saving Gwaine for toward the end of his biddings farewell. Whether it was because he had noticed Gwaine's following him or because saying goodbye to Gwaine would have been one of the most difficult for Merlin to deliver without a lip quiver or two and was therefore preferable for conveyance under the cover of darkness, Arthur was not certain. But surely Merlin had just saved Gwaine for the end. After all, hadn't the knight stopped giving word to the king as night fell?

Sentimentality seemed strangely more masculine on Gwaine than on Merlin. Maybe it was the sword skills or battle scars. Or the strangely expressive nature of his hair. How did it move so gracefully even in the midst of battle? Arthur knew that it was almost as impressive as his own. Almost.

Yes, Merlin would not have slept for more than a day. He would never have given himself the chance. So how fast could he really be moving? Merlin had been known to manage to fall asleep and flop off of a horse when deprived of slumber.

Having reached the stable, he patted Merlin's mare once more, as though to reassure her that he didn't blame her for Merlin being idiot enough to fall asleep on a moving horse when not even weighed down by anything. Merlin didn't even have to wear armor!

Then Arthur's brain jolted to a stop, another idea having occurred to him. It took him a moment to process the new thought; his brain rarely moved at the speed with which it was rushing that morning, and the sudden intrusion of a yet another new idea dizzied him for a moment.

Which he supposed said something about his regular state of mind.

But no matter. This was about Merlin.

Merlin had taken all of his clothes and most of his belongings.

Of course he had. How had this not occurred to Arthur earlier? He had failed yet again to see the big picture, to see what the little details that he had observed truly meant with regard to the overall situation. Merlin's cell had been empty, save for the furniture, and all of his possessions that had not been smuggled to him in prison had been taken from his bedroom. Merlin had seemed positive in his last conversation with Arthur that he would not be returning to Camelot; why should he have left anything of his behind?

Plus, Arthur realized, with a pang, that Merlin may have assumed that Arthur would confiscate and destroy anything not taken with him. That was the official policy for exiled individuals. He had overlooked it in Guinevere's case, but he also hadn't imprisoned Guinevere for a month with orders to deprive her of food. He couldn't blame Merlin if he assumed that Arthur would not treat the circumstances of his banishment as he had Guinevere's.

So Merlin had taken everything that he could carry, which in and of itself was an optimistic choice for a man with almost as much upper body strength as Arthur's practice broadsword dummy. After all, Merlin had been ordered to be out of Camelot and in some other kingdom by dawn; did he really expect to make it to the borders, weighed down by all of his possessions, even if he had left immediately after his parting with Gaius at midnight? He'd have been caught easily enough by any pursuers looking to guarantee his absence from Camelot.

Another thought occurred to him; more prepared this time, Arthur was less bewildered by the flurry of creativity going on within his head.

Merlin would not be expecting to be hunted by Arthur's men.

Merlin may not have assumed that his own banishment was being handled with as much lenience as Guinevere's, but Arthur had hardly had him surrounded by guards during his final hours in the castle to make sure that he did, in fact, go. Arthur hadn't even expected him to leave and had trusted him to lock himself back up in the dungeon forever; surely Arthur would have trusted him to head for the borders without…persuasion. So why would Arthur send any of his knights out to see that Merlin was following the order to be out by dawn? Hell, why would Merlin assume that any of the knights would actually do anything to him if he wasn't?

No, surely, Merlin would not have been expecting any pursuers. It wouldn't have mattered if he was weighed down by everything that he owned; surely, if he was out of sight of the citadel, Arthur would not be particularly fussed to chase after him and make sure of his flight. Despite his recent crisis of faith with regard to what he'd thought that he'd known of his most loyal servant, Arthur was positive that Merlin would not foresee any hunt, mystic sorcery or not. He'd probably figured that he could mosey his way out of the kingdom of Camelot without any particular urgency. Arthur couldn't blame him; he was correct.

Merlin's mare suddenly stamped her hooves and shook her head, as though she sensed that Arthur was thinking so seriously about her most frequent rider. Now that Arthur thought about it, maybe she was. Maybe Merlin had enchanted her with some sort of magic horse spell to give them a psychic connection that would hold no matter what the distance, demonstrating yet another flouting of Arthur's laws and throwing in his face that Merlin could control with his magic any man or beast that dared to behave contrarily to his devious will of malice and manipulation.

Or the mare was becoming restless from lack of exercise, usually having been taken out already by someone at this hour. That was another possibility.

Or maybe she just missed Merlin. Magical or not, they'd seemed to have a bond of sorts. When attacked by bandits, she was consistently the calmer of the two, generally remaining in her place rather than panicking like her rider. Yes, they were a solid pair together. Arthur couldn't have imagined that Merlin would have left her behind. Granted, it wasn't like Arthur would have killed her, even if he had decided to destroy anything of Merlin's that had been left behind, but this was Merlin's horse. He had so cared for her, and he wouldn't have exactly had to carry her on his back. It would have been so easy to take her with him.

Wait.

Merlin had not taken his horse.

It had been looking him in the face since the sun had risen. Merlin had left his poor mare to miss him in the stable; all of the other horses seemed to be in their proper places, so Merlin hadn't taken it upon himself to inexplicably steal one of those. Arthur did check to see that Merlin hadn't freed Arthur's horse, just to spite him, but all was in order.

Merlin had left his horse. He was carrying, on his own back or in his own arms or, by this point, dragging grumpily on the ground behind him, all that he owned. He had not slept for at least a day; he had not slept comfortably for at least a month; he was hardly well-fed; he would have been at least somewhat out of shape from lack of movement; walking on uneven terrain after a month of relative immobility would have been exhausting; he had left only six or seven hours ago; and he hadn't taken his horse.

This could mean only one thing, and it thrilled Arthur to the bone.

Merlin could not have gotten very far.

Not yet.

No, Merlin could not be far.

Arthur began to pace back and forth. This was somewhat difficult; he had been standing within the stall of Merlin's mare, and it did not require many paces for him to have to turn back and beginning again. Merlin's mare seemed unimpressed. Perhaps she did have a psychic connection with Merlin.

But Arthur didn't care.

No, Arthur didn't care, because Arthur knew how to be methodical, and Arthur now knew lots of things.

This, in and of itself, was a welcome change from his general state of mind over the last month. Despite the general comfort of overall ignorance, Arthur had found that it was healthiest to maintain a knowledge of what was going on around him. After all, if he hadn't been kept so in the dark regarding Merlin's magic, the resultant crisis that struck his court would have been so much less devastating. Oh, if he had only known lots of things then.

Now, however, he felt that it was not enough. It was certainly better than knowing nothing; hadn't he seen for himself how damaging knowing nothing could be? But knowing lots of things wasn't enough anymore. Not with a situation of such magnitude. He knew the how, the what, the who, even the when. But Arthur did not know the why.

And that was completely unacceptable.

Fantastic.

More helplessness. That's all that Arthur needed. He was once again as useless as he had been for the past weeks. He was beginning to feel as though passivity was to become his defining trait. His life was going to become nothing but a spectator sport in which he watched the world go by and tried to keep up with it. Arthur thanked the heavens that the world was flat; it was almost unimaginable how dizzying it would have been to have to watch the world go round. Having to watch without effect was difficult enough as it was.

No.

No.

What Arthur needed was to stop allowing himself to be helpless, to be unaware. This was an unknown situation, yes, an almost impossible situation. There was no precedent, in memory or even in myth. But why should Arthur have to embrace his own impotence? He was as much a player in this game as was the man who had made the first move. Merlin may not have acquainted him with the rules, but hadn't that been part of the whole ordeal as he'd intended it? That Arthur would have to figure out the rules by which he should govern himself and his kingdom on his own?

And govern he would. He would be proactive; no more waiting for others, whether friend or foe or some irritatingly enigmatic combination of the two, to make the first move. He would rule the kingdom as he saw fit for the good of everyone. He would be the best king that he possibly could manage. He would make his metaphors as overly complicated as he wanted. Was he king or was he king?

Power, that was the key. Had that been the key all along? Did it matter if it was monarchial or magical, so long as it was used for good? Arthur didn't know. It had undeniably played its part, but so had so many other factors. They were all shifting and crumbling into each other now, power mixing with wonder mixing with fear mixing with sadness mixing with admiration mixing with determination mixing with strength mixing with weakness and oh, how had he not seen it all before?

He would know the why. Not just because he could; of course he could. He was the bloody king, and a man of his stature and intelligence could understand anything that he wanted to. Anything that he did not understand was surely just unimportant.

But he would not know this just because he could. He would know why because he should. Because it was his job to know things that would otherwise not be known, to ask questions that would otherwise not be asked, to make the difficult decisions so that no one else would have to.

At the sound of a particularly sharp whinny, Arthur jerked himself out of his reverie and looked around the stable. Judging from the angle of the rays of sun that were streaming through the warm wooden windowpanes, Arthur hadn't been there for more than an hour. Had so little time truly passed? It was hard to believe that he had come to so many conclusions in so little time when he had been so very lost for the past month.

That didn't matter. If anything, it was good that there had been so insignificant a passage of time for what Arthur was going to do. He called out for a groom; he knew that there had to be one or two in the area, probably just staying out of their domain for fear of provoking that admittedly rather moody king as of late.

Arthur was right; a young man in faded and patched clothing bowed his way into the stable and waited for instruction. Biting down an annoyed remark regarding how everything would go far faster if servants were somewhat more concise in their courtesies and how he'd never had to put up with this as prince, Arthur ordered the boy to saddle the mare against whom Arthur had been more or less leaning since his return to the stable.

Fortunately, the boy was either too young or too intimidated by the king's presence to question the strange order; Arthur's own perfectly healthy warhorse was waiting only a few stalls down. But Arthur was glad for the boy's reluctance; if he'd asked why Arthur had instructed him thusly, Arthur had no excuse prepared. Not even the flimsiest of explanations.

But no matter. Regardless of what he might have come up with to explain his sudden eagerness to neglect his own stallion in favor of a placid mare, any person who knew anything of Arthur would have known to true reason for his flight. What would have been the point of lying? They would have had to pretend to believe his excuses, out of propriety and respect and an eagerness to spread the story as soon as he was out of earshot, and oh how he missed Merlin at times like this, and they would have all known what he was truly doing.

Arthur didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. There was nothing to be ashamed of. What the hell else was he supposed to do?

The saddle properly affixed, Arthur sent the boy running back to the castle to retrieve an admittedly lengthy list of items to pack into the saddlebags. Arthur only hoped that the boy would remember everything; he'd found that this groom was yet another servant who had never been taught to read. Perhaps he should do something about that when he returned from his mission. Reading was a handy resource.

Arthur checked his sword and looked over his person out of habit, preferring to be prepared for whatever he might face in the forest. He was glad that he'd hopped his way into his newest and sturdiest boots that day; if all went according to plan, he would need them. Excalibur shone from his sheath as he lifted it slightly; Merlin loved Excalibur. He claimed that it was because Excalibur never seemed to require cleaning or polishing, but there had been a deeper glint in his eye that Arthur had never been able to identify, pre-imprisonment, but what Arthur now knew was pride.

How had he let Merlin go when there were still so many questions that needed to be asked? Perhaps he should have allowed Merlin two days to leave.

Arthur put Excalibur back into the sheath, into which it slid so smoothly and so cleanly that Arthur could not help but feel the quiver of awe that always flickered in the back of his mind whenever he handled the almost supernatural blade. Oh, there were so many questions…

Arthur shook his head and began pacing around the stall again, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the stable boy to return with what Arthur had ordered. He was buzzing with adrenaline; the sense of purpose that was washing over him was so wonderfully overwhelming that he just had to move and had to do something and had to start.

After all, he finally, finally knew what he had to do.

He was going after Merlin.

Of course he was. What else was there to do?

But Arthur had to wonder which of the two of them had been the one to make that choice, the decision to allow a final meeting of the isolation that had so defined the trust and depth of their bond over the years.

And he had to wonder just how long ago that choice had been made.


	22. And When There Were Two

Arthur ran into a problem almost immediately.

He'd felt very dashing and very heroic and very kingly as he'd made the decision to ride out after Merlin. As he'd made his way out of the palace courtyard on Merlin's horse, his head had been held high in pride at his own decision-making skills. While there were no solemnly admiring knights or cheering civilians to wish him well as had become the unofficial practice as of late, Arthur was perfectly content. The compliments that he paid to himself tended to be more satisfying than the ones bestowed upon him by others anyway. They were usually much more specific. He did not even have to struggle to maintain his characteristic countenance of seriousness as he absorbed with silent appreciation the approval of his citizens.

This was going to be a good journey. Arthur could feel it in his bones. He seemed to grow more and more optimistic as he rode further and further away from the town. His mood was all but buoyant and, as this was a welcome change from his most recent state of mind, he was more than willing to allow his thoughts to dwell on the certainty that this was all going to work out as he had intended. This would be a good journey.

Unfortunately, he was so distracted by his optimism that it was not until he made it to the edge of the woods that a terrible realization hit him.

It was a big forest.

There were an awful lot of paths for Merlin to have taken.

The worst of it was that Merlin could have chosen a path narrow enough for a man but far too tight for a horse and, as a significant part of Arthur's plan involved remaining on horseback, such a situation would pose a significant problem. Hell, now that he thought about it, Merlin could have fit through just about any path. Narrowness generally did not present a problem for the young man. Merlin could be anywhere.

Well, this was embarrassing.

At least he hadn't brought anyone with him. If any of his guards or knights or his wife had known what he was planning, there would have been no less than a convoy following him. Arthur would have tried to refuse them; king or not, there were some interactions that demanded privacy, and this was certainly one of them. But they would have followed him nonetheless. Arthur supposed that he ought to be touched, but mostly he was just annoyed at the prospect. Not only would they have been disrespecting him as a ruler, they would have been insulting his intelligence. As if Arthur would not figure out quickly enough that he was being tailed by a bunch of noisy knights on horseback!

But Arthur was alone. The earliness and unexpected nature of his departure had guaranteed him his isolation, and Arthur was glad.

And not just because he had no idea where the hell he was supposed to go.

That was, however, his most immediate problem. Where would Merlin be heading?

That was easy enough. Ealdor. Surely Merlin would be going home. Where else would he go for a safe haven? Best of all, Arthur at least knew where Ealdor was. After all, Merlin was hardly the type to choose camping as his regular way of living, not if he had any other option. Even the prospect of the young man taking up residence in a cave seemed unlikely. Arthur had heard enough complaints over the years coming from Merlin about the merits of living indoors, particularly in relation to the discomforts of sleeping exposed to the elements. And animals. And who or whatever was determined to slaughter them in their slumber on that particular mission. Merlin always found some ridiculous part of life outdoors to complain about. Yes, no matter whether or not he would have to sleep on the floor, Merlin was surely heading for Ealdor if it meant a roof over his head. He had nowhere else to go.

Which was such a very sad thought.

Sorcerer or not, Merlin was a pretty damn lovable person. After all, hadn't Arthur kept him on as a servant for the better part of a decade when he, as crown prince and then king, could have requisitioned for himself the most hard-working and respectful of servants in the entire kingdom? He'd told himself that, serving shortcomings aside, Merlin's loyalty was the quality that kept Arthur from dispensing with his services. But then, any servant would have been duty-bound to at least feign loyalty, and any servant worthy of a king would have been skilled enough to do so.

But that was the problem. Merlin was just so bad—or, as Arthur knew, just unwilling to put in more effort than was absolutely necessary—at everything else that fell under his jurisdiction as manservant. Why would he feign loyalty when he did not bother to feign proper respect on a daily basis? Why would he dutifully follow the king into battle if he did not even properly change his sheets every day? Merlin claimed that it made no difference if Arthur had to sleep on the same sheets for more than one night in a row, but Arthur could always tell. It was the principle of the thing. He was king; he was entitled to fresh sheets every night.

But that wasn't the point. If a servant was to be selectively devoted to his job, wouldn't he choose to apply himself to the more menial and distinctly less life-threatening jobs? After all, sheet-changing was generally a less dangerous task than dragon-facing.

Although Arthur still had questions about what had happened between Merlin and the Great Dragon as he had lain unconscious on the ground. Again. Merlin would have to answer about that when Arthur caught up with him.

Assuming that Arthur could catch up with him. What path would he choose?

Arthur almost immediately ruled out the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Merlin had long maintained that nothing good ever happened in the Valley of the Fallen Kings and, while Arthur could have come up with a half-hearted argument or two, he had to admit that Merlin had history on his side. Arthur would not have minded using the path, danger or not, but he knew perfectly well that, unless he had absolutely no other choice, Merlin would find a way to avoid it.

There were a few other well-worn trails that led into the forest that Merlin could have easily chosen. They were at least smoother and more comfortably navigable than the more obscure that peppered the treeline that Arthur faced in frustration. But perhaps Merlin would have wanted to avoid other people at all costs. Arthur was confident in his belief that Merlin did not expect Arthur or his men to give chase; at least, not for any nefarious purposes.

Although, technically, Arthur was giving chase.

Nevertheless, it would be understandable if Merlin did not feel up to facing anyone whom he might come across on an oft-used path. Arthur himself was generally not anxious for any interactions when he was in something of a sulk. And his sulks were usually over smudged armor or cold meals; he supposed that being banished was perhaps more of a mood-killer.

Actually, Arthur wouldn't have put it past Merlin to have just made up his own path. He could just see the young man meandering through the trees at random, tripping over roots and swearing and carrying on anyway, just to be difficult, even if there was no one for him to be difficult for. Arthur liked to think that some of Merlin's ingrained habits still stood. It would have made Arthur feel so much better to know that he was not the only one still instinctively expecting the other man to be at his side or a few steps behind.

Eventually, Arthur settled on the most sensible of his options. He would just assume that Merlin did have some sort of psychic connection to his own horse. Perhaps Merlin had left her behind so that she could be some sort of inconspicuous spy on his behalf. Arthur was counting on Merlin maintaining at least a working knowledge of the goings-on at Camelot. He couldn't explain why he was so certain of this, but he found that if he was going to rely on a psychic link between an erstwhile sorcerer and a drowsy mare, it was best not to overthink the situation.

So Arthur gently spurred the mare in her sides, an action that required more effort than Arthur was used to. It was not because of the difference between Merlin's horse and his own; it was only that the saddlebags that lay under his legs were packed so full that he was forced to straddle the seat with far wider a stance than as he was accustomed. He would pay for that tomorrow.

After a few minutes of Merlin's mare wandering apparently aimlessly back and forth in front of the treeline, Arthur had to concede that perhaps relying on her sense of direction was not his wisest of plans. He refused to discount the psychic connection theory; after all, if Merlin did not want to be followed, surely he would have passed the order along to his horse.

With his mind.

Yes, that made sense.

At the very least, Arthur could see why they were such a good pair. He did not know whether it was because they had spent so much time together or whether Merlin had just sensed a kindred spirit when he'd made his selection of a mare among a throng of stallions, but Arthur imagined that this was exactly how Merlin behaved when he had somewhere to go but did not feel particularly inclined to go there.

He'd also long theorized that Merlin had only chosen the mare to be difficult once more. After all, the female horse as assigned to Merlin was intended for missions and quests and manly journeys of manhood in the forest; she could hardly afford to be left behind in Camelot every time something inconvenient happened. Merlin would need a horse. Plus, female or not, Arthur had to admit that she was just as strong and capable as her male counterparts. So she'd had to be kept carefully away from the stallions in the stables. Arthur just figured that this was just Merlin's way of demanding special treatment via horse.

That's what Arthur got for letting Merlin choose his own horse.

So a psychic connection was not to blame for this. That was the point on which Arthur should be focusing. Pursuing his errant criminal former-servant who had been ordered into permanent exile far away from his kingdom…exactly what every king was meant to do when awake at an obscenely early hour of the morning.

Still, a psychic connection would have been handy. It had worked well enough when Morgause had done it.

Although perhaps Arthur should have been happy that Merlin's similarities with Morgause seemed to go no further than the possession of magic. Extremely powerful magic, if Merlin was to be believed.

But Arthur did not want to think about that just then. The possibilities of an extremely powerful Merlin were too overwhelming to consider without having the young man in front of him to refute or confirm any of the accusations against him and his sorcerous capabilities.

Arthur did not want to think at all. He couldn't explain why, but he felt like thinking was not the solution to his problems. No, this was not a matter of the brain.

Which Arthur was perfectly fine with. He'd been giving himself a headache from all of the overthinking he'd been doing lately. He vaguely equated it to when he began heavy training once more after being bed-ridden and inactive, although he couldn't imagine what the connection could possibly mean.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forearms gently on the neck of the mare. He felt his own heart beating as he leant ahead and, through the warmth and contact with the only other living creature who knew where he was and why he was there, almost thought that he could feel her heart beating in tandem with his own. Head and heart. Balance.

But hadn't that been what they were? Sometimes Merlin would have to be the head—if Arthur was overcome by emotion, despair and anger at betrayal, grief at loss, irrationality through nobility, didn't Merlin at least try to help him see sense? Whether through manhandling—only when Arthur was in a seriously weakened state of mind, of course—or through all of the powers of persuasion possessed in his skinny body, Merlin could think his way through a matter.

But it went the other way as well. Merlin was not a person who could ever be accused of unfeeling. As much as Arthur tended to turn away whenever Merlin wept, he had always at least envied the young man in the obvious fact that all of the horrors that he had faced over their years together had not numbed him to all emotion. It would have been so easy to condition himself to the sadness inherent in standing at the side of a king.

Yes, Merlin had made some rather ruthless decisions; after all, Morgana had not poisoned herself. But the hollow expression in Merlin's eyes as he had confessed of the act to Arthur, the grim determination tempered with so very much sadness that made him look as though he was reliving that final moment of betrayal and severance of trust…Arthur had known that Merlin still felt the emotional repercussions, even years after the fact.

And Arthur was king. Foolish decisions and surprisingly frequent enchantings aside, he would have died a long time ago if he had not been capable of thinking his way through situations, even if he was occasionally led astray by treacherous emotions. He could think as well as feel, just as much as Merlin…

Head and heart. That's why Arthur's change had been so difficult. It had seemed so impossible that he must embody both at the same time when he had been so accustomed to their sharing of the burden. Merlin had been more than his shadow. Merlin had been…the darker half when Arthur had been certain of his own righteousness, the lighter half when Arthur had needed nothing more than encouragement of unquestionable sincerity, the top when Arthur could not reach up to his final destination on his own, the bottom when Arthur needed a boost to attain his own proper height, his heart when he could not feel, and his head when he could not think.

Balance.

Was this why it was so important to him? Was balance such an essential tenet to him because he had always had Merlin to balance him out? Or was Merlin so important to him because he had, with his arrival and seemingly coincidental assignment as Arthur's manservant, fulfilled Arthur's need for balance in order to become proper king? How had it all worked out this way, when all of the odds and, indeed, countless dissenters attested to its unlikelihood? They had become a pair, a set.

And the last month had shown him both how fundamental to his own character that duality had become and just how difficult it could be to compensate.

And yet how ultimately doable, if not desirable. What a lonely thought that was!

Damn Merlin. This was all his fault. Growth it may have been, but it was one of the most strenuous ordeals of the young king's life. Guidance would have been appreciated. But was that allowed? Did that conform to the rules of the game that Merlin had so arbitrarily set forth?

It didn't matter. None of it mattered, not yet. Finding Merlin had to be the priority. Questioning the very nature of his existence could wait. He had to focus on the important parts of life.

Arthur opened his eyes. There was really only one thing to be done.

Balance.

Balance be damned. Who needed a head a time like this? This was all heart.

So Arthur spurred the mare again, ever so gently, and guided her into the forest. He chose the main path, then made his turns and slants at random. This was as good a method as any. And it felt, for some completely inexplicable reason, completely right. As though this was what was meant to happen, and that Arthur had always known it in the back of his mind.

Which was ridiculous, but of course, he didn't have any better plan. And Merlin seemed to have finally learned how to travel through the forest without leaving a trail. Apparently, the art of stealth was far more important when fleeing a kingdom unlikely to follow up on his existence than when fleeing from murderous enemies determined to have their heads on spikes.

Ah, the mysterious workings of Merlin's brain. Arthur knew that it had to be more than the magic that made some of his decisions so…unlikely.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and patted the back of the mare's neck. She did not acknowledge him. He supposed that she missed her regular passenger, who at the very least was a lighter load—not that Arthur was anything remotely close to fat—but he didn't mind. Perhaps she was just as tired as he was. She had almost certainly gotten more sleep than Arthur had, but perhaps she was just not a morning horse when not on quests. Merlin was certainly far more difficult to properly wake when they were leaving early from the castle; waking him to alertness after a night in the woods tended to be far simpler. Either way, the adrenaline that had so overcome him as he had left the stable was waning off swiftly as he made aimless turn after aimless turn through the trees. Exhaustion and frustration and despair at the rationality of this quest were wearing him down.

In fact, Arthur was so worn down and weary that he very nearly trampled over and killed a figure that lay prone on his back, sleeping heavily with a worn jacket serving as inadequate blanket. Arthur would have almost believed that the motionless figure—which had managed to sleep through the approach of a large horse and a near crushing at her hooves—was actually dead if it not managed to rouse itself at the volume with which Arthur swore after he was certain that he was not going to kill the person at slumber.

Who probably would have deserved it. After all, what kind of person with any sort of sense could sleep through the crashing arrival of a horse directly over his head, only to be awoken by Arthur exasperated swearing?

It was Merlin. Obviously.

Arthur had just managed to turn his merciful reprieve into execution via hoof. That would have been embarrassing.

And sad as well, he supposed.

Merlin sat up and rubbed his eyes. Squinting as they adjusted to the sunlight that streamed hopefully through the canopy of trees above them, it took Merlin a moment to realize what had roused him from what seemed to have been a surprisingly deep sleep.

It was therefore with a very groggy expression that Merlin first met the gaze of the king. Grogginess aside, however, Arthur was faintly relieved to see the click of recognition in Merlin's bleary eyes that meant that he too knew without a doubt that something was about to happen that would change them forever. Arthur only hoped that, underneath that sleepy recognition, Merlin was feeling the same mixture of dread and anticipation that he was, which was such an uncomfortable combination that Arthur could not help but explain the sensation that was washing over him with as much eloquence as possible.

"Hello, Merlin."

Arthur did not flush as he heard the abruptness of his statement; after all, couldn't familiarity say so much more than the most carefully planned of speeches?

He would have to find out.


	23. The Same Old Differents As Ever

Whatever Arthur was expecting to be Merlin's reaction to his sudden arrival on the scene, it was not for the young man to groan and flop back to his position prone on the ground, pulling his jacket up to cover his head from the sunlight and rolling away from the intruding king.

"Uh, Merlin?"

"What?" Merlin's voice was muffled through the fabric of the coat, but Arthur could hear the annoyance.

He may not have expected to be welcomed with open arms at the reunion, but this was far more mundane that he could have imagined. It was insulting. Arthur deserved at least some shouting or sobbing or an impassioned speech about the advantages of symbiosis. He was the king! This just felt anticlimactic. "…Hello."

Merlin sighed audibly, still under the jacket. Arthur took this as a sign that Merlin was waking up; it certainly would have taken deliberate effort to exhale with enough vehemence to convey frustration through a jacket. "Hello. Now go away."

Arthur rubbed his eyes. "Don't you at least want to know why I'm here?"

"No, but I would love to know why you're here now! Would it have killed you to let me sleep? Or would that have been too inconvenient for you?"

Arthur scowled, not caring that Merlin couldn't see and be assuredly intimidated by his expression of displeasure from his sulky position on the forest floor. Hoping not to betray that he was further heartened by the growing sharpness of the words of the slowly wakening Merlin, Arthur adopted his loftiest voice. "I am the king of these lands. It does not matter to me how long you want to sleep. I order you to stand and address me with the proper manners of a commoner—like you—to a king. Like me."

Merlin rolled back in Arthur's general direction, the jacket still covering his face. "What are you going to do if I don't? Double exile me? You already promised not to kill me. What else can you do, Arthur?"

Arthur grinned. Merlin hated his lofty voice. If anything would rouse him properly, it would be the lofty voice. "Well, what are you going to do if I keep talking and don't let you go back to sleep, Merlin?"

Merlin's voice was clearer and distinctly more alert, if not in the least less petulant. "I'm going to come back to Camelot and rain down a fury of dark magic the likes of which you have never seen and only begun to imagine in your darkest of nightmares."

Arthur rolled his eyes. He'd heard this basic threat many times in the past, although it was usually less associated with magic and more along the lines of deliberate food poisoning. Merlin was generally a morning person, but on the mornings when he wasn't? Those were interesting mornings. "Will you now."

Merlin, while still hidden from Arthur's view, seemed to acknowledge with the stiffening of his limbs the fact that Arthur had not even bothered to respond to his threat in the form of a question. Apparently, however, this was not enough to motivate him to start acting his age. "Don't tempt me."

"Merlin."

"What?"

"Get up."

Merlin rolled onto his back and took the coat from his chest, climbing unsteadily to his feet and swaying a bit as he found his footing. Arthur uneasily wondered if perhaps he should have let the young man sleep a little longer. Or at least stop and give him a chance to eat something before delving into the reason why he had come. He hoped that Merlin at least had some food with him. It wasn't as though he had great fat reserves to rely upon for backup energy.

Especially since Merlin seemed to be choosing to expend his energy on being as disagreeable as possible. "Just so you know, I'm only getting up because I know that I'm not going to be able to fall asleep again until you go away. Not because you told me to."

Arthur nodded blandly. "Uh huh."

This seemed to offend Merlin more than had the unwanted awakening; putting his hands on his hips and glaring at him with as much fury as possible—always somewhat muted by the fundamental and deceptive sense of naïveté in the extreme blueness of his eyes—Merlin faced the king. "What do you want?"

Ah.

"Nothing."

Arthur had planned to ease his way into an explanation as to why he had come. He'd felt that a gradual approach would make Merlin more amenable to answering a few…uncomfortable questions.

He hadn't thought that his plan for gradual approach would seem so much more like stalling than deliberation.

Or complete foolishness.

Merlin apparently concurred with the latter. "Arthur…"

He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. This wasn't going at all like he'd imagined. He glanced around at Merlin's camp, taking in his surroundings.

Not that it could really be called a camp. It was more or less a scattering of belongings on the forest floor where Merlin had been lying on the ground. He saw Merlin's pack as well as another bag that Arthur had never seen before, a water skin, a bizarre sort of staff with a bluish crystal on the tip that Arthur didn't like to focus on, and…

"You brought a sword?"

Arthur had been unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, and Merlin took it as his cue to intensify his glare and stomp away. His stride did not seem angry so much as determined; Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin was trying to wake himself up fully through activity. He followed Merlin's insistent tread without complaint until they reached a nearby clearing. Arthur was glad; he preferred open space to closeness of quarters when it came to confrontation. Claustrophobia did not encourage coherent thinking. Merlin too seemed more loquacious in the wider space.

"No, Arthur. I spent the entire night wandering around the forest and trying to pull weapons out of rocks. There were so many options that it was difficult to choose before I settled on this one and yanked it out. It was a very inspiring moment, and I'm fairly certain that I am now the rightful king of Camelot."

Arthur whistled and raised his eyebrows. "Whoa there. There's no need to be so tetchy, Merlin. I was only asking."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. "It wasn't what you asked. It was how you asked it."

This was ridiculous. "How the hell else was I supposed to ask it?"

"You had a tone."

And Arthur had thought that Merlin had had a smart mouth before all this had happened! Exile clearly did not lead to an improvement in manners. In fact, he had the distinct impression that Merlin was speaking with more or less the same intentions and meanings that he always had, just more…candidly. And disrespectfully.

Arthur couldn't really blame him. What did Merlin have to lose by being a little mouthy? He was already banished and, considering that Arthur had given his word that he wouldn't kill him, he supposed that Merlin would have been justified in thwarting any attempts from Arthur to attack him.

Which Merlin almost certainly could.

Arthur still wasn't entirely used to that idea. That Merlin could overpower him so easily, with just a word or two…he didn't even have to vocalize the threat. Maybe that was why Merlin's stated intentions for attacking Camelot had seemed so ludicrous. The threat was implied, and they both knew it. The threat would always be implied.

The worst part was that Merlin wasn't even conveying any sudden aggressive impulses; he was just capable of acts of great destruction, and in their mutual knowledge of the fact, it lay between them like an invisible barrier. Merlin had the potential for being frightening without being threatening, just by the exposure of who he was and what he could do.

Ah. Speaking of threats…"So. Are you going to head back to town now and rain down your fury, Merlin? Or are you saving that for later? Are you going to kill us all with a display of magic to rival the end of days?"

Arthur was pleased to hear a hint of sarcasm in his own voice; he did not want Merlin to have the impression that Arthur was legitimately afraid of the young man wreaking magical havoc over his village. Merlin did not deserve to be led to believe that Arthur's opinion of his moral code had sunk that low.

If Merlin was affected by Arthur's question, it did not show. "No."

Arthur's bravado faded almost immediately after hearing that single, slow, and serious syllable escape from Merlin's lips. This was a time for sincerity; anything else felt vulgar. "But could you?"

Merlin nodded. "If I wanted to, yes."

"Why won't you?"

"Are you trying to talk me into it?"

Arthur shook his head, far too curious to respond with a lightness that could derail the subject. "Not exactly, Merlin. It's just…I guess that I'm wondering what it's like to have so much power as you say you have but to never…use it. Not the way that you can."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "So, you're starting to actually believe that I'm powerful."

"Not powerful, per se. Just…possessing power."

"Thanks for clearing that up."

Arthur shook his head, determined to have this out. He'd thought hard about how to best approach the conversation, and he would not give up now. "I'm serious, though. I'd probably want some vengeance, if I were you. Isn't tempting?"

Merlin sighed, seeming to accept that Arthur was not going to give up on the topic. "Yes and no. I am human. I'm not above a petty revenge or two. You've actually been on the receiving end on more than one occasion, to be honest, even if you didn't know it. But in a way, living in Camelot under the threat of execution for all these years has been good for me. It's taught me to…temper myself. To restrain myself. And it just seems too unfair most of the time. It would be like if you went into the battle ring fully armed to take on a weaponless child."

Arthur raised his own eyebrows. "You seem to think a lot of yourself."

Merlin shrugged. "Justly."

Arthur shook his head, not so much in disbelief as in a disinclination to accept as true the words that Merlin was so casually throwing at him. "But you're stoppable, Merlin."

"Of course I am. But not easily," Merlin responded, the seriousness of his voice making it inconceivable that his statements regarding his own abilities could be considered mere boasting. Merlin was…telling.

But he wasn't explaining. Not everything. "Merlin, you took a perfectly normal and non-magical mace to the chest and nearly died! I still don't see why you didn't, actually. But an injury like that could happen to anyone!"

Merlin laughed under his breath and looked at the ground, and Arthur had the impression that perhaps he knew very little of the whole story surrounding the example that he'd selected. "Okay, that was an exception. And a long story. But I was distracted."

"Doing what? Trying to figure out how to best run away?"

"No, Arthur. Saving your life. Honestly, if you think back to just about any dangerous situation that both of us were in and realize that you didn't know where I was, you can probably assume that I was saving your life."

Arthur paused. "How?"

Merlin met Arthur's eyes, his own looking rather appraising as he considered what Arthur could be asking. "What do you mean?"

As if he didn't know!

"How did you save my life?"

Merlin snorted. "What, that time? Because I've lost track."

Arthur remained collected. "That time."

Merlin began pacing. When he spoke, his words came out very quickly. "I used magic to shove a mercenary off of his horse when he was charging at you to decapitate you or scalp you or something equally horrible. You were busy with another mercenary."

Arthur was momentarily distracted, and not just on the awful idea of being scalped.

Or decapitated. That would also be bad.

But whatever the reason, his determined focus was quavering. "There are spells for that? That seems…really specific. Is that why you can never remember to do half of the things that I tell you to do? Because you filled up your limited brain space with obscure horse-unseating spells?"

Merlin laughed, an air of patience mixed with just a touch of patronizing in his exhalation. He opened his mouth to answer, a sort of superior smile on his face when Arthur interrupted him, his emotions overtaking him for the first time.

"Don't laugh at me, Merlin!"

Merlin looked startled. Arthur couldn't be sure whether it was because Arthur had stopped him from answering the question posed to him or because he so rarely heard such raw emotion issuing from Arthur's mouth. Such a combination of sadness and desperation and embarrassment…yes, Merlin would not have been used to inspiring such a reaction in the king. Seeing, perhaps. But not inspiring. "What do you mean?"

Arthur shook his head furiously back at forth, horrified to feel tears of mortification beginning to prick in his eyes. Thank heavens they were alone. "I mean, don't laugh at me! It's not my fault that I don't understand!"

Merlin nodded and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I wasn't laughing at you, Arthur. I'm sorry if it seemed like that. Really, I am. I was laughing because I…because this still feels so bizarre. To be talking about this out loud to anyone, let alone you. I'm not used to talking about magic to people who don't know about magic. It's just…jarring. But I wasn't laughing at you. I'm laughing at this."

Arthur took a few deep breaths, terribly embarrassed. He supposed that this was what came of suppressing his emotions for so long. But he did not know what to say.

Merlin seemed to understand this; he resumed pacing. "And to answer your question, it wasn't a specific horse-unseating spell. Actually, it's not a spell a lot of the time. It's just a sort of…force. This sort of invisible strength that I can manipulate however I want. I've been able to do it since forever. It terrified my mother when I was a baby and couldn't control it, that I'd do it in front of the wrong set of eyes. But it's how I unlocked my cell without saying anything. I don't always need a spell to get what I need done."

Arthur nodded, calm again once more to carry on with his questions. Oddly enough, Merlin's mentioning of his mother had a sort of soothing effect on Arthur. He was so curious, but so full of dread. "Is that common? Among your sort, I mean. Can they…can you all do that?"

Merlin's answer was simple and absolute. "No."

Arthur's voice was very quiet when he responded. "None of them?"

Merlin's eyes did not waver away from Arthur's. "Not like I can."

Arthur nodded again. It was as though he needed some sort of action to take, to keep him aware of his own body. "It can be used to kill?"

He didn't need to ask. He knew. He'd known since the moment that Merlin had looked him in the eye with such fearlessness within the fire room. But he had to hear Merlin say it.

"It has."

There was a heavy pause, the air thick with the weight of what was now spoken aloud between them. Head and heart…as he became keenly aware of the speed with which his own was beating, he knew with absolute sad certainty which of the two that Merlin embodied when he spoke of using his magic on mortality. There was no way that his voice could possibly be so steady if Merlin's pulse was racing as quickly as was Arthur's, who could not help but repeat the words that he'd just had to make Merlin say aloud.

"It has."

Merlin's voice was even. "Yes."

Arthur abandoned what little distance that he'd still been able to maintain between the things that Merlin was saying and the way in which he would file them away for later consideration when Merlin was gone. Arthur had to understand these things now.

"But…oh, Merlin. Do you mean it?"

Merlin nodded, and there was a momentary flicker of some emotion in his eyes before he blinked himself back to stoicism. "Just ask your uncle."

When Arthur looked back, he knew why Merlin was speaking so bluntly, so directly. At the time, it had seemed like unkindness, smugness, an utter lack of empathy and a satisfaction at being able to voice his violence against a man whom Merlin had disliked even before the treachery had been revealed. But Arthur knew. Merlin was clearing the air. Merlin knew what was going to happen, and there were things that Arthur needed to understand first, and it was best to do it as quickly and mercilessly as possible. Arthur needed to feel them so he could remember them.

But he would feel them later. After Merlin's words, those four simple and almost taunting words that explained what had happened to Agravaine with as much detail as Arthur could have wanted, he just felt a sort of calm. Numbness. An acceptance of facts long denied to him. "My uncle…and the men with him? All of those men with him? That's how they…that's how it happened?"

Merlin nodded again; it looked as though he had to struggle to maintain his eyes upon Arthur's. "Yes."

"Oh. I see. Oh."

Merlin smiled, suddenly looking far older and much sadder than was fitting for a man of his years. "Didn't you wonder? After all, none of them had a scratch on them that didn't come from when they fell. Didn't you think that it was odd that a bunch of healthy men just dropped dead all together? If it helps, Arthur, that's the most people I've ever done at once."

Arthur was aghast at the cavalier way in which Merlin was speaking of the ways in which all of those men had died, when he had been the cause…"If it helps?"

Merlin finally broke their eye contact and rubbed his face with his hands before beginning to pace again. His voice was almost resentful when he spoke. "Come on, Arthur. Don't look at my like that. You've been a warrior for half of your life. Do you really want to compare tallies? And how many people do you think that I'd had to kill before I came to work for you in Camelot? It takes a toll, Arthur. You know that better than anyone."

That hit him hard. He was so taken aback that he almost didn't notice that Merlin had stopped his walking back and forth and bitten his lip, looking over at the king with a look of something like regret on his face. But all that Arthur registered was that the movement had stopped, and to stay still at that moment would have been far too much.

So Arthur began pacing; movement was soothing. He needed to be able to think clearly. Merlin was giving him answers, difficult answers, damning answers that he could have so easily refuted or even falsified rather than provided. Merlin knew that what he was telling Arthur could change the king's opinion of him forever—perhaps even more than had the revelation of magic—after all, how often does a man find out that his servant had killed his uncle?—but he seemed to know that Arthur deserved to understand.

And Arthur suspected that somewhere, deep down, he did understand.

But this was not the time. Arthur had to keep going. The grief surrounding his memories of his uncle would surely keep.

For the rest of his life, probably.

No, this was not the time.

"One more question on the subject, Merlin. Then we can move on."

Merlin looked up; he'd averted his gaze when Arthur had begun pacing, as if he wanted to give the king as much privacy as was possible in their current situation. "Move on? What, this isn't it?"

Arthur snorted. "Not exactly. I just need to know…No, I need to hear you say it. Maybe even more than I needed to hear…just, tell me this one thing, Merlin. Have you ever done it to me? Not tried to kill me, I know that. I'd be dead, wouldn't I? But have you? Used your magic against me?"

Merlin moved as though he were going to answer right away, then bit his lip again, looking as though he did not quite know how to say what he needed to say.

"Yeah, Arthur. I have."

So he went with the direct method of telling him, then.

Arthur sniffed. He'd known. Of course he had. But to hear it confirmed…well, it was his own fault. He needed to stop asking such dramatic questions if he was only going to mope about the answers. He was king. "In what way?"

Merlin did not laugh at what Arthur was sure was another obvious question to a sorcerer, and Arthur was glad. "What do you mean?"

Arthur stopped moving. It was beginning to feel as though they were equals in the conversation once more. "Did you use spells? Or did you do it how you do it without words?"

"Yes. Both."

Arthur shook his head. "But how? What did you do?"

Merlin did laugh this time, but Arthur sensed that Merlin was laughing far more at himself than he was at Arthur.

Which was fine with him.

"Honestly? It usually involved hurling something heavy at your head when your back was turned to knock you out so I could use magic without you seeing me."

That actually made a lot of sense. Arthur did seem to wake up to an awful lot of vanquished foes with no clue as to how they'd been vanquished and a banging headache to show for his heroics. Yes, that explained a lot. "Is that all, then? Throwing things at my head?"

Merlin did not hesitate with his answer this time. "No."

Arthur bit his tongue before he could ask for details. Details had not been serving him all that well when it came to magic interference in his personal life. "Do I want to know what else?"

A glint of pride—or was it affection?—shone briefly in Merlin's eyes. "No, I'd say not."

There was a tone of finality in Merlin's voice; he was clearly hoping that this was it for their discussion.

Which of course only spurred Arthur back on track. Some things, Arthur mused wistfully, would never change. But he had to remain serious. If Merlin was hesitant to keep explaining himself, what else was he hiding? What deep dark secrets had he kept concealed for so many years that were just bursting to be told?

Perhaps that was a bit melodramatic. Arthur took a deep breath. He needed to have a calm, even voice when he went through his next line of questioning. If he showed any sign of immaturity, it could potentially make Merlin regard the subject more lightly than was appropriate. No, Arthur would be calm, collected, and kingly.

"So why the hell are you here in the middle of the forest, Merlin?"

Perfect.

In fact, Merlin seemed to have found his question so dignified that he could not help but shift his eyes to up the heavens in appreciation before rotating them to their previous gaze. It would have almost seemed like an eye roll of disrespect if Arthur hadn't been so very sure of the admirable authority in his query.

It was nice to see that Merlin could still show some regard for royalty.

"Do I need to explain to you the definition of 'banish,' Arthur?"

Arthur shook his head, his spirits somewhat rejuvenated. "That's not what I meant. I mean…you should be farther away by now."

Merlin stared at him. Arthur wondered if perhaps the Merlin had expected a topic of more magnitude to follow the revelations of magic in the king's household. "Why? I hadn't slept for ages. Excuse me for not being at my fastest!"

Arthur was vaguely pleased that he'd been correct when guessing various reasons for why Merlin could not have gotten very far from the palace on foot in the state in which he had left. "But why didn't you take your horse? You could be nearly out of Camelot by now," Arthur responded conversationally, gesturing back at the mare that seemed to be nibbling at a tree for no apparent reason.

Yes, that was Merlin's horse alright.

When he looked back at Merlin, he was taken aback at the look of genuine surprise on the young man's face. "She's not my horse, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gestured aimlessly into the air, as he was wont to do when animated and without access to some item to throw or fiddle with. "Of course she's your horse. When was the last time that someone else rode her?"

Merlin shook his head. "But she's not mine. This may surprise you, sire, but not everyone in the kingdom has the means to own a horse. And I certainly wasn't going to steal her."

That threw Arthur for a moment. "So, what, you're going to walk back to Ealdor?"

Merlin shrugged. "That's how I got to Camelot in the first place. Besides, who ever said that I was going back to Ealdor?"

Arthur briefly considered pressing the point further, but dismissed the thought. He couldn't afford to keep getting sidetracked at every unexpected little thing Merlin said. Hell, that might have been what Merlin was aiming for. No. They were talking about the horse.

"None of the other knights will ride her anyway. Not after you ruined her. You know that she won't answer to anything else now?"

Merlin ran his hands through his hair in frustration, a peculiarity that Arthur had never understood but had seen often enough, usually when his servant was hungry, tired, or unsuccessfully campaigning some ridiculous plan. "Well, if you were just going to harp on about it, you never should have let me name her!"

Arthur, possessing far too much dignity to muss up his own perfect hair in display of any emotion and unwilling to do anything that might jeopardize the strength of its roots, merely raised his eyebrows in a far more monarchial gesture of exasperation. "Well, excuse me for not expecting you to give the thoroughbred warhorse—female or not—the name of Buttercup."

"She looks like a Buttercup!"

"She's black! And a horse!"

Merlin heaved a sigh, as though Arthur was the one being completely unreasonable. "She looks like she would be called Buttercup. Excuse me for not naming everything by describing it! What are you going to name your first-born daughter? Tiny Female Human Who Hopefully Will Take After My Wife? And if I'd known that you were going to throw a temper tantrum every time that I called my horse—the horse—by her name, I wouldn't have bothered!"

Arthur took a deep breath. He was having a great deal of trouble not sidetracking himself after that little speech. Not only was it deeply inappropriate to speak thusly to a king, but Arthur was also fairly certain that Merlin was just trying to convince Arthur once again that he was only capable of siring daughters. For some reason, Merlin had always found it hilarious to hint that Arthur couldn't produce a proper heir. Arthur had tried to overwork the inclination out of Merlin, but Guinevere's giggles always seemed to undo Arthur efforts.

He would show them. He would have a dozen strapping sons just to prove that he could. He would see how funny she would find it then! And Merlin wouldn't be around anyway.

But that wasn't the point. They were talking about the horse. "Don't you want her, then?"

Merlin looked over at Buttercup—such a ridiculous name for a horse!—with an expression of mingled affection and determined regret. "I've already said my goodbyes," he said softly, with such uncomfortable poignancy that there was no real way to follow up with any sort of grace, and silence fell.

Then Arthur cleared his throat. He had a new plan. He would break the tension with a joke—certain to be wildly amusing—and lull Merlin into a false sense of security so that he would be so surprised when Arthur turned the tables that he would have no choice but to automatically tell him everything that he knew. Yes, he could do this. All he had to do was transition his way into an opening for a joke. How hard could it be?

Ah.

Transition.

There was a reason why Arthur didn't write his own speeches. Not without a polish or two from an outside party or two, at least. A way to smoothly switch subjects…

What had they been talking about?

Merlin leaving. Merlin saying goodbye to his horse. Arthur not finding that ridiculously strange. Merlin naming his warhorse Buttercup and Arthur not even finding that ridiculously strange…Merlin not taking his horse with him when she would have given him no trouble…

Ah!

Arthur nodded and looked regally over at Merlin, who was staring back at him with raised eyebrows and the beginnings of smile that seemed at once amusing, knowing, and slightly concerned.

Perhaps Arthur's internal struggles had not been as internal as he'd hoped.

But no matter. It was transition time!

"I'm almost surprised that no one came with you when you left."

Top that, Merlin, Arthur thought triumphantly. Maybe he should really start writing his own speeches. He was developing a knack for organized and pre-meditated speaking. What a king he was becoming!

Merlin's thoughts seemed to have been on a different path. He was apparently less blown away by the elegance of Arthur's most recent sentence and more intent on responding to it. What a peasant he was!

"There was an offer or two, I admit," Merlin said nonchalantly.

Arthur smiled, very genuinely. He was willing to bet his right arm that Merlin was downplaying the words and events that had led to any gallant volunteers to join him in exile, trying to make everything about those final hours in Camelot seem as light and forgettable as any farewell before a hunting trip or quest. The man who Arthur had always accused of over-emoting was clearly one who kept the most intimate of his emotions to himself. Arthur was glad; Merlin would have something to keep with him, close to his heart, as he carried on alone.

But that was too sad a thought, and it felt too good to smile. Besides, this was another goodbye of sorts, wasn't it? Emotional farewells were the absolute worst times to express feelings. They were like deathbed confessions. What good did those ever do?

So Arthur kept his smile. "I hope that you shed a few tears to Gwaine. He wasn't too happy that you were taking your good old time in talking to him."

"Ah."

Merlin looked pointedly at the leaf-strewn forest floor, and Arthur was suddenly struck with suspicion.

"What?"

Merlin shook his head. Arthur could see him pull his most innocent face, despite the fact that he was still facing downward and avoiding the king's eyes. Arthur had seen this before. It was not a good sign. "Merlin. Please tell me that you're not saying what I thinking you're saying."

Merlin looked up and shrugged tentatively, looking very ashamed of himself and slightly anticipatory of what was about to occur.

Which settled the matter. "You didn't say goodbye to Gwaine!"

Arthur's first consolation at the high-pitch that his voice managed to achieve in indignation was that the volume seemed impressive enough to make Merlin back up a few steps, probably more out of habit than anything. "I couldn't!"

Arthur's second consolation was that Merlin's voice had gone even higher than his own. Embracing his own habit, he began stalking at Merlin, who continued backing away from him. As they were standing in a fairly small circular clearing in a rather dense area of the forest, they were basically just walking in a circle, facing each other, over and over again.

Arthur was extremely glad that no one was there to see it.

Without spectators, it was remarkably easy to focus more on his argument with Merlin rather than on what certainly looked like the most ridiculous method of passing a morning that was possible for a king in the company of a banished man. "Why the hell not?"

Merlin's response was choppy, although Arthur couldn't blame him. He was being pursued in a small circle by an angry-looking man twice his breadth and probably thrice his weight.

Not that Arthur was fat.

But Merlin was also having to walk backward, so Arthur would not have blamed him for being a bit dizzy in their repeated circlings of the small clearing. "He'd've come with me if I'd gone to see him. And he couldn't. I would have—I wanted—it doesn't matter what I would have or wanted. Gwaine is…You need him here more than I need him with me."

Merlin suddenly stumbled, and Arthur immediately stopped chasing him. He was certain that Merlin's sudden loss of equilibrium did not have anything to do with sudden dizziness brought on by the pursuit. He and Gwaine had been so close...

Merlin actually seemed taken aback by Arthur's cessation of stalking and fell to the ground. Arthur sighed. Only Merlin could turn a stumble to a fall when he was no longer being chased.

Enjoying the sensation of being taller—no, significantly taller—than Merlin, Arthur looked down his nose in kingly judgment. "He's going to kill you if he ever sees you again."

Unfortunately, Merlin did not shrink under the mightiness of Arthur's proclamation and higher position. Instead, he looked down at the ground upon which he sat and began to pull up grass to play with it.

"I know," he answered, very quietly.

Arthur had a few more words to share on the subject, but Merlin looked so very forlorn at what he had done that Arthur did not have the heart to criticize him any further. Gwaine, the first to accept who Merlin truly was and to not care a bit about it…Gwaine, whose sworn loyalty to the king was equal only to that so obviously felt for the king's servant…Gwaine, who had considered Merlin a true friend before he'd trusted any of the others enough to call them thusly…Gwaine, who absolutely would have come with Merlin, no matter what protests the young sorcerer could have thrown his way. And Arthur couldn't imagine that Merlin's protests wouldn't have been somewhat halfhearted. He was facing such a very lonely future…

And then Arthur remembered. He remembered what had so bewildered him. The certainty of Merlin's plan, that he knew what he was doing, that he had always been aware of the big picture and pulling the strings behind it before Arthur had realized that there was more to the little details that he was accumulating. Merlin had calculated what he was doing in those final hours in Camelot. He had chosen head over heart, and Arthur suddenly understood. If Merlin had allowed his heart even an instant of dominance, Merlin would have never been able to leave.

How sad that was! If he was right, then Merlin had been choosing—had had no choice but to choose—head over heart for the past month. If it was to work, if whatever he was planning was to go properly, he would have had to be constantly on his guard, constantly ready to defend what he was doing…how had he been living with his head alone for so long?

It was then that it hit Arthur. He'd been planning for Merlin to be feeling his way through this encounter. He'd been banished and sent away from everyone that he loved, with nothing to do except leave; what would he have had to think about? Arthur had been counting on Merlin playing the part of heart in this interaction. Arthur was the one who had been so deliberately thinking his way through this one.

It was with fresher eyes that Arthur extended a hand to help Merlin back up to his feet. Merlin was so surprised by the gesture that he forgot to empty his palm, and Arthur got a handful of grass for his troubles.

But Arthur didn't care. He just watched Merlin brushing himself off from his brief interlude on the ground. The man who had been his servant, his friend, his advisor, his brother for so long…and Merlin looked up at him questioningly.

Arthur didn't speak. He did not know what to say, and he certainly did not know how he would say it. There were so many questions that he had to answer for himself in so little time…was he sorry? Was he steadfast? Was everything so very undoable as it had seemed to him in the days past? Was Merlin so very different than he had always been?

And more than anything else, how could he allow Merlin to just leave when neither of them were using their hearts?


	24. And So It Began

If someone had asked him about it that morning before he had ridden out in pursuit, Arthur would have said that it would have been impossible for any conversation between himself and Merlin to become awkward. After all, what was there to be awkward about? The truth was out anyway, and any physical awkwardness had faded long ago. Merlin probably spent more time dressing Arthur than he did himself. Hell, when Guinevere had been concerned that Arthur was hiding an injury from her, she'd asked Merlin.

And Merlin had lied for Arthur.

It had taken Arthur a few weeks to be touched by the gesture. Merlin and Guinevere were very good friends; lying to her about something non-magical—which Merlin clearly had no problem lying about—was probably not an easy task. Certainly not a happy one. But he had done it out of loyalty to Arthur.

Of course, if it had been any other servant, the lie would have been out of a professional respect for his master's confidentiality. But this was Merlin. So Arthur knew that it was loyalty, a quality that was hard to bequeath and even harder to deserve, a quality that Merlin seemed more embody to than any man that Arthur had ever known, a quality that once felt, Merlin took to heart…

A quality that hadn't stopped Merlin from badgering him about taking time to recuperate from the injury that Arthur had indeed been putting a great deal of effort into concealing from almost everyone. He'd felt rather guilty about lying to Guinevere, but he couldn't very well make his queen scrub the floor of his chambers to get her to leave him alone.

Not that it worked with Merlin. And Arthur had been running out of punishing chores that he'd not yet already assigned to the young man. Merlin would just grumble, tackle them with as little enthusiasm as possible, and return to Arthur's chambers dead tired but perfectly prepared to keep nagging at him. Arthur would have almost been flattered if it had been only out of such incredible concern for the king's long-term well being that Merlin would not be silenced. As it was, Arthur was fairly certain that Merlin only kept at it to annoy him. It was like he was Guinevere's evil and only slightly more masculine doppleganger.

But it was not awkward. It was routine. They'd been more or less in a routine from their earliest days as master and servant. It had been so regular and recognizable that there had been no chance for any genuine discomfort between them in their daily interactions.

So Arthur was completely taken aback when it was an awkward silence that fell between them after Merlin's admission of his lack of farewell to Gwaine and Arthur's epiphany. Arthur was not sure whether it was because their contact with one another lately had been so diminished or because the sense of finality in their conversation was putting something of a taint on the banter that would usually carry them on through potential discomfort. Occasionally, there would befall a silence between them, but those situations were usually only when Merlin was sulking about something and maintaining a deliberate lack of communication between them. But even that hadn't been awkward; that had just been annoying.

But this was awkward, and it was so stifling that it took Arthur a few moments to grasp what was going on.

Merlin was waiting for Arthur to carry on.

Of course he was. Arthur had sought him out; Merlin was meant to be heading for the borders. Arthur was stopping him, demanding answers and explanations. For once, Merlin had nothing to say to him.

Which explained the awkwardness. Merlin always had something to say, even if it was nothing of substance. It often wasn't.

The realization of what Merlin was expecting and the recollection of why Arthur had come after him in the first place put Arthur back on track. If Merlin wanted questions, questions he would get.

"Who knew?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Who knew what?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"

"You've been asking me a lot of unexpected questions this morning, Arthur! I'd like to answer the right one," Merlin responded indignantly.

"Yes, heaven forbid that you tell me too much truth."

"Arthur."

"Fine. Fine. Tell me, Merlin. Who in Camelot knew about your magic?" Arthur hoped that he sounded as nonchalant as he hoped.

Merlin shrugged. "I didn't tell anyone, if that's what you're asking. It's not like it was an open secret that everyone knew except for you. Anyone who knew pretty much just…found out. Or died quickly thereafter."

Arthur struggled to keep his voice neutral as he asked the question that had been troubling him since he had first decided that his wife had slipped Merlin one of the keys to his cell. "What about Guinevere?"

Merlin's answer was immediate and firm. "No."

Nonchalance be damned. This was his wife. He had to be sure. "Do I have your word? Not that it counts for much anymore. But do I, Merlin?"

Merlin glared for a moment at Arthur's comment about the trustworthiness of his word but seemed to accept that perhaps there was more than a little bit of truth to it, and his face softened as he answered Arthur's question. "Yes. No, I mean it, Arthur. I couldn't tell her for the same reason that I couldn't tell you. I wouldn't have wanted to put her in a position where she'd have to betray me in order to stay loyal to you. Especially once you were married. No man can help who is father is, but you were her husband. You chose to marry each other. I couldn't burden her with an expectation that she lie to you for me. Besides, if I were going to come out and tell anyone, it would have had to be you."

That threw Arthur for a moment. "Why would it have to be me? Respect for the law? Duty to your employer?"

Merlin stared at him. "Don't be ridiculous. You deserved to know more than anyone else, and that wasn't because you paid my wages. My meager wages, if I may say so myself. You'd think that being the personal servant of the king would pay better!"

Arthur ignored the slight on his generosity. If Merlin wanted a raise in his wages, he could have put more effort in. It wouldn't have taken much to qualify as more. "You felt that I should hear it from you before anyone else."

Merlin nodded, pulling his innocent face, clearly hoping that his display of devotion would put an end to the subject. "Yes."

It was not. "So instead of just telling me, you told…no one?"

"That about sums it up, yeah."

Arthur shook his head. "Do you realize how crazy that sounds?"

Merlin just shrugged. "It sounded a lot better in my head."

"I certainly hope so."

"Thanks."

Arthur took a deep breath. He had to keep on track. "Okay, not Guinevere. What about the knights? How many of them?"

Merlin squared his shoulders indignantly. "None, Arthur! Well…none."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "You hesitated."

Merlin made a sort of wobble with his head, as though he had tried to shake his head but his body had rebelled at the blatancy of the untruth. "No, I didn't."

"You did. I heard you!"

"You're probably just hearing things. One too many blows to the head. Which I take full responsibility for, sire."

"Merlin—"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Merlin!"

"Fine." Merlin held his hands up in surrender. "Lancelot knew. But he's…it doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

"Lancelot."

Of course. It had to be Lancelot. It couldn't have been Gwaine or Elyan or Leon or that funny little one whose name Arthur always forgot. It just had to be Lancelot.

From the look on Merlin's face, Arthur's displeasure with the response showed, and Arthur was fairly sure that Merlin knew why. "I didn't tell him, Arthur. He saw me. A long time ago."

"And he kept your secret." Arthur's voice was flat, devoid of either accusation or acceptance. Of course Lancelot had kept his secret. He was too honorable to betray a friend to a penalty of death. The man had practically bled righteousness. Except on the one inexcusable and unforgettable instance that tainted Arthur's memory…

Merlin sighed, as though he knew that this was going to be an uphill battle. "He did. And Arthur, if you say anything against him for not telling you, I'll leave right now. Don't smirk, I mean it. I might have gone crazy if it weren't for Lancelot. In all of Camelot, of all of the people who I saw every day, he was the only one other than Gaius who knew. Gaius is amazing. Truly, he is. But Lancelot…Lancelot was a friend, and he was the most noble man that I will probably ever know, even if he didn't have the lineage to prove it. I got to be whole around him and I will be forever grateful to him for it. I would have…who knows what I would have? But I will not listen to you speak against him for not telling a secret that was not his to tell. I know that you have your reasons for disliking him, but please don't let this be one of them."

Arthur sniffed. In a very manly way. Merlin had just delivered the most touching eulogy that Arthur had ever heard. And he didn't even understand all of it. The unadulterated sincerity in Merlin's voice had been enough. He did somewhat hate himself for believing wholeheartedly in Merlin's statement about Lancelot's inherent nobility; he faulted Lancelot without question for the events that had led to his own suicide and Guinevere's admittedly brief banishment, but Arthur understood. After all, could he truly blame any person for falling in love with Guinevere?

But this was not the time to focus on Lancelot. Arthur in general tried to avoid focusing on Lancelot. He respected the man for the honor that he displayed in nearly every action that he took and every word that he spoke in his life; Arthur resented him for the same reason. Of course it was Lancelot…

"Honorable even in death," Arthur said quietly, to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a strange expression cross Merlin's face. He looked as though he was struggling with himself, as though there was something that he wanted very much to say whilst wanting very much not to say it. Arthur knew that Merlin was still being somewhat…selective with the information that he was sharing, and Arthur couldn't help but assume that Merlin was just trying to figure out whether or not what he had to add would do more harm or good in the long run, when he wouldn't be around to explain any further.

His reluctance seemed to triumph, and Merlin remained silent.

For a minute or so, Arthur allowed himself to think of the good parts of Lancelot that should, by all rights, outweigh the mistake that he had made that led to his death. To his second death, anyway. He was just beginning to wonder why Lancelot had so adamantly chosen to always ride a white steed when the other knights generally chose black or brown when it occurred to him that he had more important things to worry about at the moment. Maybe later he could ask Merlin to use his psychic connection with Buttercup to ask if she knew about Lancelot's horse and why he always looked so damn gallant when riding and how…

No. Not relevant.

"What about Excalibur?"

Merlin looked startled. Perhaps he had been expecting the question about the way in which he had most certainly melded his mind with that of his horse. Arthur could relate. "What about Excalibur?"

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "How did I pull it out of the stone?"

Merlin pulled his innocent face again. Arthur didn't know why he didn't just scrap the expression; if anything, it confirmed guilt more than anything else at this point. "With your muscles, I presume. You were there. You saw it. You did it."

"Yeah, after you led me to it. After you fed me a story about the history of Camelot's kings that no one had ever heard before—including me, and I've been told stories about the legitimacy of the Pendragon line since birth—and led me to a sword stuck in a boulder conveniently near where we were and that no one had ever found before. What did you have to do with this Merlin?"

Merlin mirrored Arthur's stance and crossed his own arms defensively. "Does it matter?"

Arthur groaned inwardly. Merlin had had something to do with his extraction of Excalibur. He'd hoped for further denial. Were none of his accomplishments truly his own? "Yeah, Merlin. It matters."

Merlin bit his lip. "Why? Excalibur has served you well."

The king shook his head. "That's not the point."

Merlin groaned aloud in exasperation. "Oh, yes, it is! That sword has done everything that it needs to do. It's defeated your enemies time and time again, it's legitimized your place on the throne, it cheered you up—"

"It 'cheered me up?' That's what it was about?"

Merlin winced. "No, I'm not saying—listen. Just listen. You pulled that sword from the stone because you were the man destined to lead Camelot into a period of justice and equality. You pulled that sword out because you deserved it, and I am absolutely sure of that. What do the details matter? That sword was made and meant for you."

He was doing it again. He was saying flattering things that made sense, and Arthur had every impression that Merlin was saying what he truly believed. There was such honesty in his eyes, and it was an honesty that Arthur felt that he could gauge. He'd had plenty of time to work at it. He saw no hint of guilt or malice or amusement in Merlin's eyes; there was only something of a shadow, and Arthur knew that he was not getting the whole story. Perhaps Merlin was telling the truth, but he wasn't telling all of it. Merlin had said that he would answer the king's questions, but Arthur had the distinct impression that Merlin had chosen his words very carefully.

Arthur opened his mouth to argue further, to press Merlin for the rest of the story, to demand to understand everything that Merlin was leaving out. This was Excalibur. But then he remembered Merlin's blunt statement that Arthur would not want to know the extent of the spells that Merlin had cast upon him, the expression of indecision when Arthur had been talking about Lancelot's life and death, his hint that he was not going back to Ealdor…Perhaps Merlin was not entirely keeping some of the stories close to his chest for the sake of secrecy; perhaps he just wanted to maintain some privacy. After nearly a decade of keeping to himself, surely Merlin would have difficulty in saying everything that needed to be said. Not when he was conditioned to avoid such topics at all cost. If Merlin was able to understand and accept Arthur's need for answers, then Arthur could certainly respect Merlin's right to keep some of what was his for himself. He owed the man this much, at least, here at the end.

Besides, it was very possible that Merlin's unspoken implication about Excalibur's origin was not without reason. Maybe it was best if Arthur just accepted that whatever had happened that day after he had been usurped from his throne had happened for his own good, even if it had not occurred in the most morally sound of sequence of events. After all, however it had come about that Arthur had withdrawn the superb sword from the stone, its effect had been undeniably positive. Suddenly, Merlin's masterminding of the situation seemed somewhat less sinister than it had before. Inappropriate and arrogant, yes, but perhaps the strings were not being pulled with only Merlin's personal interests at heart.

And what was Arthur going to do when there was no one left to pull them? He'd learned a lot about functioning on his own wits over the month of Merlin's incarceration, but it had hardly been enjoyable. This conversation between the two of them had been meant to ease his mind somewhat before returning to his castle to begin his completely Merlin-less life, even if it could not entirely soothe away the scars of what he had gone through. Arthur felt like he did whenever he'd had to compete in some particularly grueling tournament, one of the lengthy affairs that the neighboring kings and nobles seemed so fond of organizing, in which he felt such despair and homesickness and determination that it was not so much the trophy or prize money that he was most excited to claim upon his inevitable and stoic victory. No, the best reward had been the return to his status quo.

It was not looking like Arthur would be receiving that reward this time around. All of his immense power—as king and as knight and as hero of all who had the privilege to make his acquaintance—could not resolve this situation as he saw fit.

Saw fit for himself, anyway.

Another question popped into Arthur's head. He'd been wondering for several weeks, wavering back and forth on the matter. Just how powerful was Merlin? Arthur knew better than anyone that if a man boasts with enough confidence and to an audience generally unfamiliar with the sport, it was simple enough to convince almost anyone of the veracity of his claims. Arthur had been floundering in a sea of relative ignorance ever since he had first seen Merlin doing magic, and more than once he had wondered whether or not Merlin had sensed this and was taking advantage of his lack of experience on the subject to make himself seem for capable than he was. Yes, that damn fire room was very impressive. But for all that Arthur knew, fire rooms were just about the easiest of spells for a sorcerer to cast. Maybe they were in the first chapter of Introduction to Sorcery or however the hell it was that people learned magic nowadays. Merlin's claims of his own power had rung with truthfulness, but Arthur had to know.

"Merlin, could you have undone this? After your secret came out to everyone, that day in the council room, when I called you out for what you did to the sorceress and before you set the place on fire? I know that you said that you never would, because of my epiphanies and legal inquiries and changes for the rights of people with magic and all that rubbish. But could you?"

Merlin looked suspicious again, as though he knew where this was going but hoping very much that he was mistaken. "How do you mean?"

Arthur continued doggedly. The time for embarrassment was passed. "Could you have enchanted everyone? I mean, you did the whole fire room and that was just…could you have, I don't know, cast a spell on everyone who saw you do magic that day? Make them forget? Make it so that it never happened for anyone except you and me and the sorceress in the fireplace?"

Merlin's suspicion changed to resignation. Arthur could understand; it had to seem to Merlin that they kept returning to the subject of what he was or was not capable of. But there was just so much that Arthur didn't know about how it all worked that he had to ask.

"Yes," Merlin answered simply. "I probably could have."

Arthur rubbed his face with his hands. Understanding could be so difficult sometimes! "Why didn't you? You could have just kept me in on the secret and stayed hidden from everyone else and let me come to my conclusions without having to stick you in prison."

Merlin snorted. "Yeah, because you put up a huge fight about that."

Arthur waved Merlin's comment aside. "Merlin, I'm serious. Why didn't you just make everyone forget? You'd be better off."

"How do you figure?" Merlin sounded genuinely curious.

"Well, you wouldn't be banished, for one."

Despite Arthur's insistence on solemnity, Merlin laughed. "And you wouldn't be rethinking the laws against magic or considering what makes a man evil and what doesn't and you wouldn't be the king that you are now. Not as seriously as you are. I had to be in jail and you had to be the one to put me there for this whole thing to work out. And it's my fault anyway."

It was Arthur's turn to snort. "Yeah, it is."

"I just said that."

"I heard you."

"Why are you pouting about it, then?"

"I'm not pouting."

Merlin raised his eyebrows again. "It looks like you're pouting. That's your pouting face."

Arthur chose not to dignify that accusation with an answer. "I wish you'd stop trying to be a martyr!"

Merlin looked offended. "I'm not! If I wanted to be a martyr, I'd just have enchanted you to execute me or torture me or something."

"Or blown up your own head."

"Exactly."

There was a pause in which Arthur began to enact a brief mental argument with himself. Was this the time to break new ground with his questioning of Merlin? Would Merlin be open to beginning to address new subjects, to begin to truly bridge this gulf between them? Arthur had to try. New topic.

"Oh, Merlin, just tell me. Are you really that powerful? Are you really that extraordinary?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I told you that I was. Several times. Why do we keep coming back to this?"

Arthur sighed. He'd meant to ask Merlin about the incident with the dragon. Apparently he'd mispronounced. Why did he always have to go back to power? Arthur was beginning to think that he was doomed to never know the story of that last battle with the dragon. "You've told me lots of things that aren't true. Just…tell me the truth. Are you that…unnatural, among your type?"

Merlin nodded, an expression of strained patience crossing his face. "Yes."

"Do I have your word that you are sincere?"

"Yes, for heaven's sake," answered Merlin, a tone of petulance trickling into his voice. "Although I preferred 'extraordinary' to 'unnatural,' to be honest."

Arthur shook his head. This didn't make sense. "But why?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. "Because 'extraordinary' sounds like a wonderful compliment—especially from your stingy mouth—and 'unnatural' makes me sound like I was something that wasn't meant to exist. I did admittedly feel like that for a long time myself, but it's just hurtful to hear someone else say it."

"I understood the adjective preference, Merlin!"

"There's no need to shout. You were the one who asked."

"I want to know why you're such an anomaly among your type, not why you'd rather be called 'fantastic' than 'freakish.'"

"I'd pace myself with the big words if I were you, Arthur. I wouldn't want you to get a nosebleed."

"Merlin…"

Merlin carried on as though he had not registered the warning in Arthur's voice. Perhaps it didn't matter anymore. "To answer your question, I don't know why I am. I mean, I know why I am, but I don't know why it's me. I suppose that timing has something to do it. There had to be someone around to be at your side, and I fit the bill, age-wise, but in the whole scheme of things…I don't know why it's me. And trust me, I've spent a lot of time asking myself that."

It was nice to hear that Arthur wasn't the only one with a less than panoramic view of the big picture. "But why did there have to be someone? Why does any of this have to be? A man makes his own choices, Merlin."

Merlin laughed, almost bitterly. "Not all of them."

"Don't laugh, Merlin. Not when I'm trying to understand."

"I'm sorry," responded Merlin, an apologetic laugh still carrying in his breath. Very suddenly, he looked very old and very tired. "But try all you like. You wont be able to understand. Don't ruffle your feathers, Arthur, that wasn't an insult. I've spent years trying to understand why this all happened the way that it has. I've found that the best that I can do is to make choices and hope that they really are my own. And I've found that there is no way to prevent the future from happening the way that it is meant to happen. Trust me, I've tried."

Arthur chose his next words carefully. All this talk of inevitability was making him distinctly uncomfortable, and he did not want it to show. "Are we talking about destiny here?"

Merlin rubbed his face with his hands; when he spoke, the words were muffled as they passed through his palms. "I'd rather not. It's the most annoying concept that I have ever come across."

"There's something we can agree on," answered Arthur, watching as Merlin stood tall and looked him in the eye once more. Arthur then paused for a moment, wondering whether or not he could ask his next question without seeming like a fool and whether or not the answer would be worth it. "Can you really see the future?"

Merlin whistled. "Now there's a long story."

"Can you?" Arthur half hoped that the answer would be no. It had been frustrating and embarrassing and invasive to know that Merlin could do magic for all of these years without Arthur knowing; for him to have been able to see the future would have been eerie to the point of being unsettling.

"Not…unaided."

That was better than a yes. "What do you mean?"

Melrin laughed again. Apparently, there was nothing funnier than magical stories that Arthur hadn't heard before. Merlin's sense of humor had seemed strange before. "I mean that if you don't want me to have a nervous breakdown, don't let me look into any crystals. I mean it. Crystals are the worst."

Arthur could take that. It was vague enough. It may not have been a definitive "yes" or "no" about any prophetic abilities, but it gave him something concrete to focus on. No crystals. Yes, Arthur could take that. "I see."

Merlin's expression was one of commiseration. "No, you don't. But that's okay. By the way, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop saying 'your type of people' and 'ones like you' and all that."

Arthur was thrown for a moment. "Why?"

"Do you honestly not hear how judgmental that sounds?"

"No, I don't!" retorted Arthur, his voice slightly high-pitched with defensiveness. "Would you rather I sound inaccurate?"

"No," Merlin answered. "I'd rather you not sound like Uther."

There was a pause in which Arthur stared at the ground, struggling to maintain his countenance and seriously considering hitting Merlin. Of all of the things that Merlin had said and done to him over the years, this was the most striking. He'd said it so blandly, so casually, but it was so acidic…

Then it occurred to Arthur. He'd spent so many years trying to be like Uther, trying to rule Camelot as Uther had, trying to emulate Uther so effectively that the only difference between the two would have been between age and fullness of hair. And now he was offended at being compared to his father.

Perhaps Arthur truly had changed.

He looked back up at Merlin, who was smiling with all the pride and all the kindness in the world. He did not even seem to notice that Arthur was shaking. Or perhaps he was just allowing Arthur to believe that his sudden display of vulnerability was going unnoticed. Family had always been such a source of pride to Arthur, of an importance deeper than birthrights and thrones…

And then Arthur realized that perhaps there was a reason that he had clung so tightly to Merlin's presence in his life over the years. A reason beyond the loyalty and begrudging friendship and shared fears. A reason that was so obvious that Arthur could not believe that he'd never seen it before, although that was a feeling that he'd been getting used to as of late. But it was a reason that Arthur would have no doubt just not wanted to face.

Arthur did not have any family. Not really.

His immediate relations had been dying off slowly since his birth. He'd lost his mother before he'd had the chance to so much as register her face, and his father before he'd had the chance to accept the fact that becoming king involved great personal loss as well as great political power. He'd lost his sister before he'd even known of their relation. And even his extended family...dead uncles, unmarried to the point of denying him aunts and cousins…Arthur was his own bloodline. Guinevere was his wife, but that was not the same. Wives are chosen. Brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers cannot be helped or selected, Arthur reflected, and once you like them you have no choice but to love them, no matter what they did. Wives were different. Yes, Arthur was his own family, his own bloodline.

He really needed to get started on his brood of sons.

After all, he had just exiled his only brother, a fact that seemed so automatic and natural that Arthur felt dimly that he might have to reevaluate his longstanding stance that blood meant everything when it came to family.

Family.

When Arthur looked up again, he did not want to hit Merlin anymore. He actually would have much preferred a hug, and was just trying to figure out how he should best go about accomplishing the task without giving Merlin the chance to tease him for pre-meditating another embrace when Merlin spoke.

"You know, Arthur, we've been described a lot of different ways over the years."

Arthur coughed manfully, as though he had not just been trying to figure out the logistics of the ultimate masculine embrace. "I'm sure we have, Merlin. Of course, the complimentary words have generally been aimed in my direction, but I'm sure that you've had your moments. You know, when I'm not around."

Merlin glared, but it was a glare devoid of heat. "I do plenty of praiseworthy things around you."

Arthur shrugged. "Maybe. But we're usually dying or running or hiding or something when you decide to play the hero. You know, distracting situations."

"That's what you think," muttered Merlin. Arthur was not particularly moved at Merlin's implied request for praise for the life-saving actions that he'd taken, given that they were shielded in complete deception. If Merlin wanted compliments, he could start doing his heroics in the open.

"That's what I've seen."

Apparently, Arthur's tone was enough to convey that Merlin's protest was not falling on particularly sympathetic ears. "Fair enough. But I wasn't talking about you or me."

"You said 'we.'"

Merlin rolled his eyes, as though it was Arthur's knowledge of plurals and singulars that was posing a problem. "I know what I said. I didn't mean that—"

"You said 'we,' Merlin, and the last time I checked, you and I were the only two people here."

Behind him, Arthur heard Buttercup whinny and saw a strange look cross Merlin's face as he nodded pointedly in his horse's direction, as though Arthur's lack of tact in not considering the mare in his 'people' was bordering on the obscene.

This was ridiculous.

They so had a psychic connection.

But that wasn't the point. The point was Merlin's failure at grasping numerics when it came to language usage, which sounded far less foolish to deride him for aloud.

Merlin did not seem to feel foolish. "I know that, Arthur. But—"

"I'm sorry, Merlin. Perhaps I've rushed you with this whole 'grammar' thing. I'll give you a moment to think it through. Just remember: 'I' and 'you' mean one person, 'we' means many people."

Merlin stared at him, an inexplicable expression of amusement and disbelief crossing his face. "Are you sure about that, Arthur?"

"What do you mean?"

"You do know that 'you' can be pl—never mind. It doesn't matter. You'll get there eventually. It's a long enough ride back to the castle."

Arthur brushed that aside. Merlin was clearly talking nonsense again. At this point, it just seemed like it would have been cruel to point out his academic failings. After all, Arthur hadn't spent years under the greatest tutors in the kingdom for nothing! Merlin's books didn't even seem to be written in English. If he wanted to read gibberish symbols whilst Arthur flexed his brain muscles, he was free to do so. Intelligence was the tool of the kings, not lying peasants. How else could he have figured out Merlin's psychic connection to his horse? It surely wouldn't have even occurred to a person of lesser intelligence.

Arthur looked back up at Merlin to find the young man standing with his arms crossed, the look of combined boredom and patience that always seemed to take up residence on his features whenever Arthur was thinking. He'd always assumed that this was just the way that Merlin expressed his jealousy at Arthur's brainpower. Indeed, Arthur's head was magnificent in just about every conceivable way—a little bit of jealousy was to be expected. He'd just never understood why Merlin's "jealousy" would always come across as "boredom." But then, Merlin was a confusing young man.

What had they been talking about? For the life of him, Arthur could not remember, and Merlin did not seem inclined to rush Arthur into a return to their topic. That was okay. With his typical smoothness and subtlety, Arthur would trick Merlin into revealing the subject of their decision. All that it took was careful wording and intelligent planning…

"What were we talking about?"

That was it. Catch him off guard.

Merlin made the sort of squinching face that he always made when he was forced to speak about a serious subject when there was clearly something that he found amusing. Merlin must have misunderstood the gravity of Arthur's question. But that was okay. It had been a very tricky moment.

"We were just discussing the differences between singulars and plurals in, you know, language, but that seemed to be a bit much for you, so we can go back to the original topic."

"Merlin."

Amusement seemed to win over seriousness, and Merlin began to smile. "I'd said that we had been described in a lot of ways over the years. And then you assumed that I meant you or I."

"Ah, yes. Probably because that was the only assumption that made any sense."

"Calm down, your highness. I meant that you and I have been described in a lot of different ways." The usage of proper titles was starting. Merlin was growing more and more facetious by the sentence. Arthur had to nip this in the bud.

"Merlin."

Well-phrased.

Merlin must have agreed, and he began to explain himself with some semblance of clarity. "I meant 'we' as in 'us.' As a unit. You and I together have been described in so many ways, the two of us. You'd've laughed if you heard them all, heard who they came from."

Merlin's voice was beginning to grow nostalgic, almost wistful, and Arthur felt suddenly afraid. "They seemed so serious at the time, but now that I think about it…I suppose that it depends on the voice that says them. If a jester, they would have sounded just ludicrous. A dragon says them, and they have all the gravity of the voices of a thousand kings."

"A dragon?" That damn dragon.

"'Two sides of the same coin.' 'Destined for greatness.' 'One half cannot hate what makes it whole.' 'A friendship forged by fate.' So many ways to describe us. I've heard them from the very beginning, you know. I got 'two sides of the same coin' before I'd even been assigned as your servant. I didn't even like you then. Remember when we fought, with the maces?"

A chill ran down Arthur's spine. He did not like the way that Merlin was speaking. "Merlin—"

But Merlin shook his head, and it did not even occur to Arthur to continue speaking until Merlin had finished his train of thought. "I didn't believe it, either. Remember how we started out? Who would have thought…but still. I think that those phrases…those descriptions are just the ways that we'll be remembered in history. Right now, it doesn't feel like pre-destined greatness, does it? It's just confusion and nonsense and neither of us knowing what the hell it is we're supposed to be doing but listening to each other anyway. That doesn't make any sense, does it? We're so young, Arthur. Truly, we are. Isn't that hard to believe sometimes? 'Two sides of the same coin…' Maybe later. But honestly, right now, I'm starting to think that you and I are just a single dog chasing its own tail. Always together, but not getting anywhere. And that, Arthur, is why I'm leaving."

Leaving forever. Merlin didn't say it, but that's what he meant, surely. That's what he had to mean. He'd heard Arthur's proclamation, he knew the law, he'd heard the reasoning behind the ruling…hell, he'd agreed with the reasoning behind the ruling. He had to know that it meant forever when he spoke of leaving. But Arthur had to be sure. It was like an execution; there was no room for uncertainty in this moment.

"Leaving forever."

Merlin smiled, sadly and knowingly, as though he held every care in the world behind those blue eyes that sparkled strangely. Could eyes sparkle with determination? "We're stunting each other's growth at the moment, I think, Arthur."

But Arthur had to be sure. He didn't care if he sounded like a fool. If this really was to be forever, what was the harm in seeming like a fool? And if not, if by some stroke of—Arthur hated to use the term—fate Merlin came up with a flawlessly reasoned argument that Arthur could accept without question and they could return to Camelot side by side, as ever, Merlin would treat him as though he were a fool anyway. Yes, by this point, there was no harm in being foolish. Being sure, that's what was important. "You can't come back. I mean it."

Merlin glanced down at the ground for a moment before looking back up into Arthur's eyes. From the way that his head wobbled for a moment, it had been something of a struggle to meet the king's eyes. It was as though Merlin had to take advantage of these final moments in the company of his king and companion to commit what was left of their relationship to his memory. He could stare at the forest floor whenever he wanted. Exile tended to involve no shortage of forest floor. And Arthur had to know if Merlin understood what Arthur truly intended. "I know you do."

He certainly sounded as though he understood. But why was there that shadow behind his eyes again? It didn't make any sense. "Penalty of death, Merlin."

"I heard the proclamation, Arthur," answered Merlin, the sobriety beginning to leak out of his voice. There was amusement once more. But this was not yielding amusement, or even wavering amusement. Merlin meant what he was saying as much as Arthur did.

And Arthur had no choice but to accept. He was king, and it had been his ruling anyway. "So you're positive."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest yet again, as though defending himself from the possibilities and temptations of the implications behind Arthur's words, and raised his eyebrows. "Of course I am. Why, are you changing your mind?"

"No." Well, now there was no going back. Stupid pride. "This is your last chance, Merlin."

Higher went the eyebrows. "For what?"

Arthur shrugged with as much nonchalant loftiness as he could manage in his deteriorating state of solemnity. If Merlin could keep himself together, then so could he. Arthur could just tell that if one of them were to break, the other would not be far behind. And then how could either just turn and walk away? No, Arthur had to keep himself together, for both of their sakes. He was king. If he could not be lofty, then he deserved a usurping or two. "Tears, groveling, confessions, heartfelt farewells that you've been stifling this whole time…"

Merlin laughed, sounding relieved more than insulted. "I'll pass. But thanks, Arthur."

And there was so much sincerity in that final sentence that Arthur broke the gaze and stared at the ground below him. He knew that he had to finish this soon or it would never end, not leaving himself with any sort of dignity intact. He sniffed, shook his head, blinked rapidly, and straightened back up to face the young sorcerer, looking more like a true king than he ever had before. For some reason that he did not particularly understand, he hoped that Merlin would be proud of both of them more than ever at this moment.

He certainly looked emotional. But this was Merlin. For all that Arthur knew, Merlin had spotted an injured squirrel standing behind him and was just waiting for Arthur to ride away so that he could nurse it back to health.

Arthur laughed suddenly, entertained by the surprisingly vivid image of Merlin surrounded by all manner of friendly woodland creatures, having become a sort of princess of the forest. Who knew? Maybe there was a spell for that. But his laugh broke him out of his trance, and the pieces fell into place, and he saw the big picture of what was going to happen, and he saw what he had to do to get it started. And he finally saw that he could do it. "One last thing, though, Merlin. You say that you've knocked me out dozens of times since we've known each other."

"I've knocked you out dozens of times this year," answered Merlin, laughing again, although looking somewhat suspicious at the abruptness of Arthur's change of topic and demeanor.

Arthur glared, not to be deterred. "With blows to the head."

Merlin shrugged, looking as merry as he did sad. Or was that hope? "Usually, yes."

Arthur nodded and put his hand to his scabbard, tracing the end of his sword absently as he usually did when prepared to strike down an enemy but not wanting to show his hand just yet. "Okay. Just making sure."

Merlin was familiar with this particular battle habit of Arthur's, and he looked more suspicious than ever. Arthur's steps in his direction did not seem to help allay his nerves. It certainly looked as though Merlin was fighting his instincts to stay in his place. Arthur couldn't blame him. He had proven himself a fan of the bluff as of late. But this was no bluff.

Nerves at potential attack did not seem to have the power to shut Merlin up. Not that Merlin couldn't have stopped one if he'd truly believed that it was coming. But Arthur was beginning to think that nothing short of death would ever shut Merlin up permanently, and even then he wouldn't have been surprised if Merlin came back as a ghost just to badger him from beyond the grave. "Making sure for what? Arthur, what are you doing?"

"Call it revenge," answered Arthur, grinning. With those three words, he took up Excalibur and hit Merlin on the side of the head with the hilt. He was somewhat sickened by the thunk that it made on the young man's skull, but Arthur had been a warrior long enough to know just how much force was required to knock a man out without really damaging him. Permanently, anyway. Merlin would be alright, if a little sore for the rest of the day.

Which seemed fair.

Arthur checked on Merlin anyway, just to make sure that he wasn't bleeding copiously where he'd been hit or dripping brain matter from the ears. Or dead.

Once satisfied that Merlin wasn't mortally wounded and just going to be out cold for a few hours, Arthur walked back to Buttercup and tied her reigns securely to a tree. Checking one last time on the saddle bags to make sure that the provisions that he had smuggled out of the kitchens were still intact (as well as the skein of ale that Arthur had procured in honor of the abandoned Gwaine), Arthur patted Buttercup one last time on the head, glad that their clearing was rather remote and far from any paths—it was unlikely that anyone would stumble in. Merlin was unlikely to be slaughtered in his sleep.

Arthur turned back only once, to take a final glance at the unconscious sorcerer. Merlin always looked so much younger when he was asleep, even if, as in this case, it was from a blow to the head rather than from weariness.

He looked so very young and innocent.

Arthur did not weep as he walked away from the clearing where Merlin lay. He was preoccupied with this strange feeling of conclusion, that this was the last time that he would see the young man, that their final words to one another had been as endearingly disrespectful as they had ever been. The finality of the moment was overwhelming. The certainty.

No, Arthur did not weep. If this was the last that he was to see Merlin, his eyes would not be obscured by the tears that he so often teased Merlin for shedding at the drop of a hat.

He tried not to wonder what Merlin was going to do when he woke up, where he would go, who he would meet and what he would see and how he would hurt. Theories flew through his mind by the dozens, but there was no point in guessing. He knew in his heart that it would do him more harm than good. Head and heart, head and heart…working together, they told him what he so did not want to hear.

He would never see Merlin again.

But what the hell. He'd been wrong before.

And he'd forgotten to ask about that damn dragon.


	25. Epilogue

It was hard to believe.

It wasn't as though she hadn't had time to adjust. To prepare. After all, Merlin had been in jail for weeks and weeks, and they'd known all along that banishment was more than a slight possibility. No, it hadn't exactly been a surprise.

But it didn't feel real. None of it did. Even when he'd been in jail, she'd had access to him. In fact, she'd had such easy access to Merlin that she had seriously considered talking to her husband about security measures in the dungeon. No doubt Merlin was…helping things along with his magic, but still. It wasn't as though she was his only visitor. He hadn't gotten all of his contraband from her.

Fortunately, he'd received a lot of it from her. If she hadn't exercised her more creative muscles, Merlin would have been starving to death, sleeping on the floor, cold, and drunk for most of his stay. Although she still hadn't figured out which of the knights had taken the initiative to supply him with curtains. Even she hadn't thought of that. Unfortunately, none of Arthur's finest warriors were willing to admit that he was the one most inspired to aid in the interior decoration of dungeon cells.

A pity. Keeping account of the accumulation of Merlin's donations was one of the most fun parts of her occasional and all-too-brief visits with the young man. Seeing all of his smuggled comforts made it easier to live with the fact that he was wallowing in jail for no reason.

Well, maybe there was a little reason. But Guinevere firmly believed that character and context ought to outweigh crime, at least in cases such as Merlin's. Merlin! Arthur may have been unwilling for far too long to so much as approach Merlin to question him about the circumstances of his sorcery and consequent concealment, but he'd known Merlin's character. That ought to have been enough…

What was it with men and pride? Gwen admittedly bore her own share of the inconvenient inclination, but it always seemed so much stronger among the opposite sex. Of course, her belief was largely based on Elyan the knight and Arthur, so it was entirely possible that all men weren't partially defined by their senses of pride.

Oh, Arthur. Her life would have been so much easier if she hadn't loved him.

Or Merlin, for that matter, if in an entirely different way. If only Guinevere had been able to really, truly choose sides. It would have been so easy to take Merlin's; after all, whenever she saw him, he was unchanged, save for an increasing pallor that grew with every day spent below ground. It was Arthur's character that had seemed to take such an ugly turn. It had been very unattractive.

But Merlin was a criminal. There was no denying it. Merlin certainly wasn't bothering to try. So Guinevere could not begrudge Arthur's difficulties. All in all, it was an awful situation, and she could understand why he might blame Merlin for it. It was easiest and, worst of all, the most just.

If only Merlin had seemed like a criminal! Gwen had made trips to the dungeons before—sometimes as a deliverer of food, sometimes to survey a prisoner, sometimes as a prisoner—and the people that she saw within the cells almost always looked like criminals. Dirty and scowly and altogether shifty. Merlin had not.

It was those blue eyes, she'd decided. They were too pretty to imagine to be full of hate. He just had such an innocent and lovely face. Like he could do no harm and would be shocked to hear it suggested of him. Guinevere honestly believed that if Merlin had been left to a jury of his peers who'd not actually seen him doing magic, he would have been acquitted within fifteen minutes of deliberation.

Poor Merlin. It was all so hard to believe.

And poor Arthur as well. She wasn't the only one struggling with the unreality of the situation. He'd begun to miss Merlin before the young man had even announced his intention to leave. He'd miss Merlin very much, and Guinevere was willing to bet that the feeling was mutual. It was very sweet, in a sad sort of way.

But it was easier to blame Arthur. Especially considering how ridiculously he'd been behaving during Merlin's last day in Camelot. Proclaiming for all to hear that Merlin was not leaving, despite the young man's direct statement that he would be gone by dawn, all but hiding in his own castle to avoid Merlin, acting particularly high and mighty around everyone else to try to cover for the fact that he was so very scared.

Well, Gwen was scared too. But she didn't strut around the castle shouting at people just because she could. Her sympathy for Arthur's struggles was not exactly at its high point when he stopped by to visit her chambers in the hours before the dawn that lead to the confirmation of Merlin's flight.

Guinevere hadn't needed to see an empty cell or vacant chambers to know that Merlin was gone. For one, she believed him when he flat out stated that he'd chosen exile over incarceration. And there was no way that she could have possibly doubted Merlin's sincerity when they had said their farewell, only an hour or so before Arthur came stomping in to continue the charade that Merlin was still somewhere within the castle. No, she knew that Merlin must be an adept liar to have survived so long at Arthur's side without his magic coming out. But there was far too much brutal honesty in his eyes when he had come to see her that last time for her to have any doubt that he would be gone by the time the sun rose.

She had watched the sun rise. She had stayed in her seat, wrapped in a blanket and staring out her open window at the courtyard, where she had been sitting when her husband had entered, where she had remained as the sun climbed up into the sky, from whence she had not moved even when she saw Arthur riding out of the castle gates on a black horse that was not his own, unescorted, and before almost anyone else was even awake. And she sat there still, even hours later, still in her nightclothes, remembering that last meeting between herself and Merlin…

.

"Merlin, please don't go."

Merlin shook his head patiently, and Guinevere had the impression that he'd been through this conversation more than a few times over the last day. "I've been banished, Gwen. I don't have much of a choice."

Guinevere's patience was somewhat less absolute. "You have not been banished."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "What, like I was going to choose to stay in the dungeon for the rest of my life? No thanks, Gwen. A month was enough."

She chose not to think about the conditions in which he had lived for the past month. It made it much easier to be annoyed at him for choosing an option that did not nominally involve permanent imprisonment. "Just wait, just for a little bit. He'll get over it and stew in his own pride and you'll be out by spring."

"I can't." Merlin's confidence had something of a quaver in it. Guinevere had the impression that he was not so much reconsidering his decision to leave so much as he was wishing that he could make himself do so. Oh, what she would have given for a third option!

"He's mad, Merlin. That's all. It'll start to fade away the first time that he hears a joke about brass over breakfast or about the chemical properties of soap over his bathwater. Trust me, a day or two with a devoted servant, and he'll be begging you back with a raise," she answered, trying to imbue her words with as much assurance as she could muster. She was mildly impressed with herself; but then, it was not a difficult statement to believe. Surely Arthur would not have been able to endure an unnecessarily difficult life with the solution living in his dungeons.

Merlin smiled. "He's had more than a day or two. He'll probably get fat from being overfed and quiet from a lack of yelling all the time and stop losing so much hair from having to fret over the state of his armor every morning, but he'll get used to it. You both will."

Guinevere shook her head, not so much disbelieving as unaccepting. "Are you really going?"

This time, his confidence did not quaver. "Yes."

Somehow, the certainty in his voice gave her something of a shove into the pragmatic state that would be the only way in which she could handle this with any dignity. "How can I contact you?"

It looked as though this was another question that Merlin had heard many times since he had begun his farewells. His voice was so carefully controlled that she knew that this was a planned response. "You can't."

Well, he could be as carefully controlled as he wanted. If this was to be their final meeting, she would not allow him to go quietly. "Merlin—"

His voice was even. "Gwen, you can't. Even if I wanted to give you a place to write me, I don't know where I'm going yet. Not exactly."

That was his excuse? How unintelligent were the people who had received this answer before her that they could not counter it? "But you can write me from wherever you settle and then I'll know where you are and I won't have to worry."

He did seem to have to begin to personalize his argument. She finally felt as though he was speaking specifically to her rather than spouting a pre-written speech. "Gwen, I can't. I'm truly sorry, but I can't. It's the same reason that I couldn't tell you about my magic. I would not put you in that position with Arthur. There may come a day when he wants to find me again—for good or for bad—and it can't happen like that. I don't want you to have to lie to him or for me, and I will not be found. Not until the time is right."

Well, that was a load of nonsense. Who did he think he was, the castle sage? For all that he complained about Arthur's high and mighty voice, Merlin seemed to have a version of his own. But affection does a great deal to soften arrogance. "Merlin, don't go."

Merlin groaned. "Gwen—"

She stood and put her hands on her hips, ignoring the fact that she was in a nightdress and dressing gown and perhaps not cutting the most intimidating figure at the moment. "I know I'm not behaving like a queen, and I don't care. And that's why you can't leave. I'm not a queen to you. You're the only one who still treats me like you did before my coronation."

He snorted. "You want to be treated like a servant? I think that you might be forgetting some of the finer points of the job."

Guinevere sighed angrily and began to vent. This may not have been the time or place for a bit of whining on her part, but she didn't care. It was early, and one of the people that she loved most in the world was leaving her behind. She would whine all that she wanted, and he would listen, damn it! "No, but I want to be treated like I didn't receive a personality transplant the moment that the crown touched my head! It's like Gwen ceased to exist as soon as there was a Queen Guinevere. And you don't do that. Even Arthur does. It's not in him to see his wife as a servant. For his whole life, he had specific ideas about what kind of person is a queen and what kind of person is a servant, and there was never any room for overlap. It's not easy for him to reconcile the two."

Merlin's voice was quiet. "He tries."

"I know. But you can."

He shook his head again, firmly. "I wasn't raised to expect that any woman that I marry would become royalty. I wasn't even raised to expect that I'd be able to marry. Not where I lived. Arthur and I have very different perspectives on life. He's been being lectured about the importance of fathering an heir since before he knew exactly what fathering an heir involved. I wouldn't have had anything particular for anyone to inherit, really. That's why Arthur and I together made a whole—it doesn't matter."

Guinevere stared at him in a combination of admiration and exasperation. "Even now, you defend him? After all that he's put you through?"

Merlin looked down at the floor. "He did what he had to do. And Gwen, he hated every minute of it. I meant it when I said that it doesn't matter, any of it."

Guinevere stamped her foot, a gesture that would have embarrassed her if she hadn't been so caught up in her protest. "It does matter, Merlin! You matter. To me, to Gaius, to Arthur, even if he doesn't want to admit it right now. Oh, Merlin. Don't you see how you'll be missed? And to say that I can't even know where you are?"

And she sat down at her table and covered her face with her hands.

Merlin looked at her for a long time as she wept. He didn't interrupt; it was as though he understood that this was the first that she'd actually broken down, and all of the tears of the past four weeks were all pouring out now. She needed to cry, and she accepted with silent assent as he began softly rubbing her back, just as her mother always had when she had cried as a child. Which of course just made her cry all the harder, but it was good. It was cleansing and healthy. Dimly, she thought that men should cry more often. It was better for the soul.

Who knew that Merlin would have so much in common with her mother? Well, he had always behaved somewhat wifely toward Arthur. Not that either of them would have admitted that. She supposed that they wouldn't have wanted to question whatever it was that made their strange relationship work.

Reflecting on the nature of Merlin and Arthur's bizarre friendship began to sober her. It was difficult to be hysterical and ponder with any seriousness the layers of that issue.

As she began to calm down and her shoulders finally stopped shaking, Merlin nodded, sniffing a bit himself as he took his hand from her back. He seemed…altered. As though none of this was going as he'd intended. She was too drained by the sudden outburst of emotion to question it too deeply as he spoke. "Hand me that candle, will you, Gwen?"

She looked at the table at which she sat, where there was a single candlestick with a half-burnt white candle sealed in with melted wax. She'd blown it out hours ago, when she'd lain in her bed with the optimistic hope of falling asleep. Having gotten up, she hadn't bothered relighting it. She could brood just as well in the dark as she could in the light. So she passed the cold white candle over to Merlin, her hands still somewhat shaking from her torrent of tears.

Merlin took it from her and examined it closely, not looking up as he began to speak again, very quickly. "Alright, Gwen. I meant it when I said that I hadn't decided where I was going. For another thing, I really don't want to put you in a position where you have to keep such a massive secret from your loved ones. Trust me, I can tell you from personal experience that that's basically the task from hell. But there is a way for you to write to me."

Gwen blinked rapidly, her eyelashes bunched together in random wet clumps. "But you said that you didn't know where you were going. You literally just said that. I'm emotional, Merlin. I'm not an idiot."

Merlin smiled at that and looked up at her for a moment. "There are ways, Gwen."

He turned back to the candle, his forearms curved around it so that she did not have a good view of just what he was doing. She saw a brief flash and heard the hiss of flame and knew that Merlin had lit the candle. She was just about to ask him where he had gotten the matches when she heard him murmuring a few words in a strange language that she didn't understand.

Of course. Magic. She still wasn't entirely used to the idea. Even then, hearing about it was one thing. She hadn't been there on the day when Merlin had thrown a sorceress into a fireplace and conjured a room of fire that had apparently blown Arthur's mind to the extent that he wouldn't shut up about it for weeks, but she accepted the stories as true. After all, even Merlin wasn't denying them. So she'd heard and believed.

But seeing it was a whole different prospect. She felt as though she was dreaming the very strange sort of dream that always seemed to come to her on the nights after she'd had too much wine. It felt so unreal. There was a puff of smoke of a strange sort of bluish color, and she knew that Merlin had blown out his little flame.

"Alright, finished." He passed the candle back to Guinevere. It was completely cool and the wick was white, waxy, and clean, as though it had never been lit. But it was already burnt halfway down and the drips that had cooled to its sides were still visible…

Merlin grinned at the look on her face. "Still not used to magic, huh?"

Gwen laughed shakily. "Not exactly. Why did you give me a candle?"

"Because, Guinevere, any letter than you seal with the wax from that candle will…find its way to me." Merlin looked very pleased with himself, and Guinevere couldn't help but laugh again. But how on earth could he guarantee that he would receive a letter when it hadn't been properly addressed? Was he taking advantage of her lack of knowledge about magic to trick her into no longer pestering him about giving her a way to contact him? And how on earth had he done that?

Then she looked down at the candle, believed, and decided to forgo asking how. It wasn't very big…

"I won't get very many letters out of this, Merlin! Could you magic me a bundle or two?"

Merlin laughed. "Trust me, Gwen. You could burn that candle until the end of days and it won't melt all the way down. Don't worry about running out of wax. You can send me as many letters as you can write without wearing out your wrist. Be sure to let me know when the first of your dozens of daughters are born."

She smiled, a little sadly, down at the candle, then held it up to the faint moonlight that trickled in through her windows. She had to be sure that she knew what it looked like, exactly. If she accidentally mixed it in with all of the other candles in the castle, she could have something of a difficulty on her hands. Then she noticed something. "Merlin, it's purple!"

He laughed again. "Yes, Guinevere, it's purple."

"But why?"

He smiled again. Considering that the nature of this conversation was hardly the most cheerful, she had to wonder if he was just enjoying speaking to someone who was not his jailer or his petulant king. But it was nice to see him smile and to hear him speak in a voice not hushed by necessity. "Already learning not to ask how. You know, you could give your husband lessons in accumulation of knowledge."

"Merlin!"

Even Guinevere could hear how much she sounded like Arthur just then. She blushed.

Merlin did not seem to notice. Perhaps he was so accustomed to hearing his name uttered in frustration that he just tuned it out by now. "I made it purple on purpose for you, Gwen! I know that it's your favorite color. Also, I know for a fact that Arthur is not a fan of purple. He prefers having his Pendragon red. Yells at me every time one of your candles gets mixed in with yours. You know, now that you two live next to each other and have the adjoining chamber, all the candles are delivered together, and it is not my fault if a few purple or red wander into the wrong chamber…"

"Merlin." Her voice was softer this time, although the frustration remained audible. It seemed far fonder in the lower tone, and she was glad.

Merlin certainly did not seem to mind. "Ah. Yes. Anyway, if this candle ends up in Arthur's room or hands, he'll give it back to you. Or send whoever his new servant is. Probably after throwing a hissy fit or two. He claims that it makes his room look too girly…it's just embarrassing. I mean, even when he runs out of candles in his room and sends me over to your chamber to steal some—sorry about that, by the way—he makes sure that I only get the white or gold ones. He would actually rather try to work in the dark rather than have purple candles."

"Wow."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest and nodded conspiratorially. "Yeah. It's a good thing that he doesn't actually do more work, or his eyes would be going by now. He'd basically an overgrown child with sword skills."

Guinevere smiled at Merlin's picture of her husband. "It is kind of pathetic."

He let out a low whistle. "You married him."

They laughed together for a moment, very sadly. Then Merlin stood up. It was time for him to leave, and she knew it. He didn't say anything as he started to gather up the bags that he'd assembled, packed with the meager belongings that he'd be taking with him. With a pang, Guinevere noticed that prominent among them was the bag that she'd given him for his birthday. It looked as though it was a good thing; it was crammed so full of items that there was no way that his old bag would have held together. He also had another bag that looked to be stuffed with clothing, a leather flask, and a staff with a crystal on the end. It didn't look like any walking stick that she'd ever seen. She opened her mouth to ask what on earth that was before she thought better of it. Something about it…the gem would have been beautiful if it weren't so sinister, somehow. There seemed to be an aura of danger around it, and she was already worried enough about him. She didn't need to know of even more danger that he would carry with him. After all, if he got himself killed, how would she ever even know? She could write him as many letters as she liked—dead men tended to be poor correspondents. Then something occurred to her.

"Wait, Merlin. How will I send my letters? Do I give them to someone? Is a magic bird summoned by the wax or something?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows until Guinevere suspected they could not go any higher. He was probably giving himself a headache with the effort. " 'Is a magic bird summoned by the wax?' Wow, Gwen. Wow. Arthur really is rubbing off on you. Not in the smart way. Do silly theories come with the crown?"

Guinevere glared, not least because she hadn't realized how silly indeed the question had sounded until she'd said it aloud. She may not have known much about sorcery, but magic letter-carrying birds summoned by wax seals seemed somewhat farfetched. "Merlin, really. How do I send them?"

Merlin grinned with such confidence that he seemed almost charming. There was something…rakish about his expression that Guinevere had never expected to see in him. It was a good thing that he hadn't ever looked like this during his first year in Camelot; Guinevere's crush might have been a bit slower in its fading. Arthur Shmarthur!

Guinevere laughed silently at herself and waited for Merlin's answer.

It was not long in coming. "Oh, just toss one out a window somewhere. I imagine that it'll find it's way to me."

"But how will-. Oh, never mind. Will you write back?"

Merlin hesitated, and Gwen began to prepare a lecture that would certainly guilt him into at least sending a few lines her way every now and then. Catching the look in her eye, Merlin hastily answered. "When I can, I will. Don't give me that look. I promise! But I'm going to make it so that no one can open any letters except for you."

"You mean that I'm the only one who can break the seal for the first time?" She was beginning to get used to this whole magic thing. It actually seemed pretty handy.

Merlin shrugged, and she wondered if he was happy at all to have been blessed with such handiness. "Sort of. You'll be the only one to break the seal, and I'll make it so that the wax reseals every time that you fold it up. I don't want you to get into any trouble by it coming out that you're still in contact with me. This way, anyone who might stumble upon a letter won't be able to read it. But…I kind of need a favor to make it work."

Guinevere began to grow suspicious. His tone of voice made the "favor" sound less than appealing. "What do you need, Merlin?"

He gave a sort of preemptive wince and what was clearly supposed to be a conciliatory smile that was distinctly less rakish. "I need a lock of hair for the spell to be specific to you."

Guinevere stared at him. That's what it was about? "Of course you can have a lock of hair. Hand me those shears, will you? Honestly, I thought that you were going to ask for my right hand or first born child or something."

Merlin laughed. "Who will be a daughter, no doubt."

Gwen smiled. "I certainly hope so, just for the look on Arthur's face. But honestly, Merlin. Did you think me so vain? Hair grows back. And I have plenty of it."

Merlin shrugged, looking both sheepish and amused. "I think that I'm just conditioned to asking Arthur for bizarre favors that seem completely nonsensical, and I feel like he would have put up less of a fuss if I'd demanded his right hand or first born son rather than cut off any of his hair. Trust me, of the Camelot monarchy, you're not the one who I'd accuse of vanity."

Guinevere shook her head fondly, thinking of her husband as she snipped a small lock of her hair off of her head and handed it to Merlin, feeling somewhat strange. He began to pocket it when she put out a hand to stop him.

"Wait. Let me see." She used the commanding sort of tone that she'd been trying to develop since becoming queen. Apparently, an accommodating voice was not typical of a monarch.

Merlin did not seem particularly swayed. "What do you mean?"

She was undeterred. "I want to see how you do it. You're my friend, Merlin, and according to you, magic is a huge part of who you are. I want to see you do it. I want to see what makes you you."

Merlin smiled, looking very touched. "I can do that."

He laid down his bags and walked over to a bracket on the wall of her chambers and plucked out another half-burnt white candle before coming back to sit at her table once more. "Sorry. I have to steal a candle."

Guinevere waved the apology away, a strange sort of excitement washing over her. She'd never really seen magic before, and this was Merlin. This was certainly not going to be any evil or dark sorcery.

Merlin began to focus on his task. He withdrew one hair from the lock and wrapped it around the others, tying them all neatly together with an astonishing precision that she would not have expected Merlin to be capable of. Then he stood the candle up on end, muttered a word, and Guinevere gasped as it sparked to life, the blue fire that she'd suspected when he'd lit her candle earlier blazing up more brightly than she could have imagined when seeing it unobscured. From the grin that began to sneak across his face, Guinevere couldn't help but suspect that he was showing off a bit. She couldn't blame him; from the impression that she'd gotten, precious few of Merlin's friends had been particularly keen to see him doing magic. Dealing with the knowledge was one thing; dealing with the sight, she imagined, could take longer to accept, no matter how much they would have valued his friendship. A return to status quo seemed to be the most common destination yearned for by the knights who were still willing to speak to him.

But this was Merlin. And she watched, fascinated, as he held the bundled lock of her hair over the blue flame and allowed it to catch fire. She bit down a warning that he would burn himself if he didn't drop the burning hair. He knew what he was doing far better than she did. She heard him begin to mutter unidentifiable words again; this time, there was a longer stream of them, uttered in such a strangely melodic tone that he sounded as though he was singing a beautiful song to which no one else knew the words. She'd heard Merlin sing before, and his voice was generally not to be described as "melodic" in any sense of the word; but this was so lovely and thrilling that Guinevere could equate it to nothing other than the most entrancing of songs. Tears pricked at her eyes again, but she was not sad.

Pure white sparks began to jump up from the burning hair; as Merlin said his final word in that language that she had never heard before, there was a poof as a mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke emerged from his hand. When it cleared away, she saw that all remnants of the lock of her hair were gone. Merlin's hand was unscorched. Laughing at the look on her face, he blew out the candle and tucked it away in his pocket.

It was also purple.

There were a few moments of silence before Gwen said a quiet "Thank you."

Merlin looked surprised, more than anything else. "For what?"

Guinevere raised her eyebrows. Were the magic fumes going to his head? Her motives should have been obvious. "For showing me your magic."

And then Merlin began to laugh. He did not stop for a long time.

Guinevere was just confused. "Why was that funny?"

Merlin wiped his eyes, streaming from what she presumed was his laughter, and looked suddenly exhausted. "Because, Gwen, you are probably the first person in my whole entire life who has thanked me for doing magic. It's usually 'what was that?' or 'be careful that no one sees you' or 'magic is evil' or 'burn the sorcerer.' Not always directed at me specifically, mostly because I somehow got away with lying about it for all these years, but still. I've never been thanked."

That made Guinevere very sad. She'd thought that he was underappreciated before the whole ordeal.

Stupid Arthur.

"Stupid Arthur," she said.

Merlin laughed again, and Guinevere only hoped that he'd contain himself this time. After all, Arthur was just next door, and she had the distinct impression that Merlin was planning on avoiding meeting the king once more before he left the castle. She wasn't sure if either of the men could have handled that. "Yes, stupid Arthur, indeed, Gwen. Take care of him, will you? He's going to need you more than ever now."

She nodded with as much seriousness as she could. "Without you, you mean."

Merlin nodded right back at her. "Yes. And yes, I know how arrogant and presumptive that sounds."

Guinevere shook her head. "It doesn't, somehow. Well, maybe a little. But it is true. Even after this month, I think that Arthur still doesn't know how much he needs you around."

Merlin looked as though he almost disagreed with her but was not quite sure how to express it, and his tone was light when he answered. "Hopefully my lack of enthusiasm for my primary duties as a servant will soften the blow."

Guinevere smiled, sadly. "I don't mean as a servant."

He nodded, very slightly. "I know. Just…look after him. I know that you already do, but…it's on you, now, Gwen. You're the closest one he has left, after I'm gone. And I truly am sorry for that. He can be…a handful, let's say."

She did not respond for a few moments. "You don't sound mad at him."

"I'm not," he answered, very sincerely.

She snorted. "Why not? I am."

Merlin leaned forward on his elbows. "I know, and that means a lot to me. Really, it does. But I think that he did the right thing. Plus, I told him to do it, so I'm actually kind of smug about the whole thing."

Guinevere narrowed her eyes. He had better not mean what she thought he meant. "You told him to do it."

He seemed to correctly interpret her change of expression. His next words seemed very carefully chosen. "Not directly. I sort of…guided him to do it. I was very sneaky, if I may say so myself."

Guinevere's words were somewhat less carefully considered. "How can you be so flippant about this? I don't care if it was your idea. You're leaving forever, Merlin! You're not coming back! Can't you at least pretend to be upset?"

Oh, she had better not start crying again.

But then there was that rakish grin on his smile again. "Come on, Gwen. You don't really think that I'll be gone forever, do you? I think that Arthur and I just need to be apart for a while. You know, codependence isn't healthy for men of our power."

The sudden threat of further crying extinguished by his expression, she rolled her eyes. "I can hear the 'smug' coming out."

Merlin shook his head. His rakish grin seemed suddenly very serious. "I mean it, Gwen. We'll be better together someday if we're apart for now."

She nodded, looking down at her smooth and uncarved table. "You think."

"I hope." Merlin put his whole heart into those words. She knew it.

"This is a big gamble, Merlin."

He matched her movement and nodded back. "It wasn't easily made, you can trust me on that. I'm just…counting on coming back."

She couldn't imagine herself taking such a risk. "You think that Arthur doesn't mean what he said right now? That he's not a man of his word? I think he'd double banish you if he heard you say that."

Merlin chuckled, and she felt suddenly and irrationally ashamed of questioning Merlin's faith in Arthur. "No, I know that he is. But I also know that he's a man of his heart, as much as he would try to deny it. Prideful as he is, he'll always choose what is right over what is easy. I'd be dead now, you know, if he wasn't that sort of man."

Guinevere couldn't argue with that. If Arthur wasn't that sort of man, she wouldn't be his wife. She'd still be banished. Or she would have been killed immediately after her betrayal had come to light. Yes, there was no denying that Arthur was that sort of man.

And she suddenly felt much better about Merlin's exile and its projected permanency.

Though she still felt plenty annoyed with Arthur. Optimism or not, she'd still have preferred if Merlin wasn't leaving in the first place.

Merlin seemed plenty resigned. "One last thing, Gwen. Could you just—I don't know, keep me updated on what goes on in Camelot? Not just the people, but…you know, I've helped to avert a lot of crises over the years, even if no one could know. So if my help is ever needed, if there are ever emergencies that can't be overcome by sword and shield, send me word. I'll be back, death penalty or not."

She blinked incredulously. "You expect me to call you back to your death?"

A strange look crossed his face. He suddenly looked so much like Arthur did when he was preparing to ride out on a mission of some sort. The same confident determination and surface stoicism. "Gwen, if I were to die upon a return to Camelot, trust me, it wouldn't be through execution. If you can find a fire that could burn me or an axe that could behead me or a crossbow bolt that could pierce me as I stand before a crowd, knowing that I'm to be killed, then I'll deserve to die. Otherwise? I'll die naturally or in a battle. So don't worry about me."

Yes, he definitely sounded like Arthur. "Being smug again."

But he was still so very much Merlin. "Don't make me set your room on fire."

She couldn't help but smile. "Please don't. Arthur already harps on about the one that you made in his council chamber. I'll never hear the end of it if you do it again."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, I'll behave. But promise me, Gwen. If Camelot needs my help—or any help, no matter how hopeless it might seem—send for me. I'll be back as soon as I possibly can. And I have ways of traveling that don't take very long."

"Merlin—"

He was firm. "Promise me, Gwen. Don't make me take away your candle. You must keep in touch. And let me know how everyone gets on. Even Arthur. Especially Arthur. But the others as well. I have to know, or I'll go mad. I'm leaving Camelot, but I'd rather not leave all of the people in it. Not entirely. Please promise me, Gwen."

Who knew that he could make such touching speeches? Merlin was just full of surprises. Guinevere did not have the heart to refuse him. "Fine. I promise. But you must promise to look after yourself. I don't care what you say, please don't try to tempt fate with pyres or axes or crossbows."

Merlin rolled his eyes, and the mood seemed suddenly much lighter. "Oh, don't talk to me about fate. I have a long-standing grudge against fate. But I'll promise, if that makes you feel better."

It did, somehow. She knew for a fact that Merlin had been lying for more than six years, ever since he had arrived in Camelot. His word should have counted for nothing. His promises should have been discarded immediately. She knew that. But she believed him. Surely he didn't want to die. He'd made that clear when they'd had their whispered arguments about his escaping the dungeons. He wasn't going to escape, he'd say, but he wasn't going to die. He sounded so sure, and she'd believed him then as well.

And he hadn't, had he? He hadn't died.

She shook herself back into the moment. Merlin was picking up his bags and staff again, and she had no doubt that he really would be walking out of her door this time. So, without thinking, she stood up, walking over to Merlin and embraced him with the weight of all of the love and friendship and comradery that she'd grown to feel for him over the years.

Which was apparently so weighty that Merlin nearly tipped over with her momentum and the uneven distribution of heaviness added to him by the two stuffed bags strapped to his body. So it was with a laugh and a sniff that Guinevere stood back, put her arms on Merlin's shoulders to steady him and keep him upright, and bid him a wordless goodbye.

Sparing her one last glance, he looked almost casually over his shoulder and grinned that rakish grin at her once more, for just a moment, and she felt a chill—or was that a thrill?—run down her spine. Standing there, on the threshold between her bedroom and the corridor that would lead him out of the castle and into banishment, temporary or not, he shrugged. He looked so very much like he had that first day when she had met him as he stood, locked into the stocks and facing a frenzy of fruit with a goofy grin on his face and a twinkling in those oh so blue eyes of his. He was still the Merlin that he always had been, and Queen Guinevere of Camelot felt so much relief wash over her as he opened his mouth to say his farewell that she could not help but smile.

He nodded at her with all of the respect and affection in the world, looking so knowing that it felt ridiculous to doubt him.

"Until we meet again."

And Merlin smiled.

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
The End!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some final reviews would be lovely! I'd love to know some thoughts, if anyone stuck it out to the end. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
